


All's Fair

by mahbecks



Series: Thedas in Love [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Jokes, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirting, Happy Ending, Heterosexual Sex, Humor, Kinky sex, M/M, Making Out, Male Homosexual Sex, Masturbation, Minor canon divergence, Oral Sex, Romance, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Seduction, Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 83,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4325586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor and Dorian need to get laid. Fast.</p><p>But that's easier said than done when you're practically a demigod. Or when you're a mage from Tevinter living in the South. Never one to willingly accept a hardship, Dorian comes up with a plan to get them both satisfied - they'll each make a list of their potential partners, and then go in for the kill with bold flirtation and witty seduction.</p><p>Nothing could go wrong... right?</p><p>But alas, the course of true love never did run smooth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another plot idea that wouldn't leave me alone :)
> 
> The nature of this story will be that there is quite a bit of flirting and pseudo-romance between characters. However, the main (and ultimate) pairings will be Inquisitor/Cullen and Iron Bull/Dorian. And there is ultimately a happy ending. I can't do angst. Not at all. Not even gonna try.

“We really need to get laid.”

Evelyn nodded, throwing back the rest of the ale in her hand. She clenched her eyes shut at the foul taste of the dwarven brew. It wasn’t her first choice of alcohol, but it one of the strongest spirits Skyhold’s tavern was offering at the moment. A party Josephine had thrown two nights previously had absorbed all of the good stuff. Damn those nobles.

She conveniently forgot that she was also a noble, and quite used to frivolous parties where her key goal had often been to get as inebriated as possible, as quickly as she could.

“Men suck,” Evelyn agreed. Her voice sounded thick to her ears. Maybe she’d had too much? But no, she’d only just finished her second flagon. She motioned to the bartender, and he quickly began preparing her another.

“We do!” Dorian said, smacking a hand on the table. “We are hopeless, inarticulate, pathetic, sniveling-”

“You realize you’re describing yourself, right?”

“-cringing, whinging, flighty, unadventurous cretans!” Dorian knocked back his own glass of wine. He shot Evelyn a questioning look. “Really, my dear, why don’t you prefer women?”

She grinned, taking a sip from the new flagon Cabot sent her. “I could ask the same of you,” she replied.

He shook his head distastefully. “Oh, no, I really couldn’t,” he said, waving a hand. “I love you dearly, but I want nothing to do with what is going on in your trousers.”

She laughed. “Dorian, scion of House Pavus, dreaded mage of the Tevinter Imperium, scared of lady parts,” she crowed. She shook her head before taking another swig. “We’ll have to alert Corypheus. Forget the demon army – Dorian is afraid of _vaginas_.”

He scrunched his nose distastefully at her. “Please don’t call it that,” he said. “It’s so dreadfully… clinical.”

“That’s its name!”

“And yet, given the plethora of nicknames I’ve heard it given, it seems no one uses that particular term,” he replied. He waved a hand at her. “I suggest you get with the vernacular, my dear.”

She sighed, sitting back in her chair.

How had it come to this? She was likely the most prized woman in Skyhold, half of Thedas even, given her status first as a member of the noble Trevelyan family and second as the famed Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste returned from the Fade. Did that count for nothing in the eyes of men? She hadn’t been able to flirt with anyone without the poor sods falling all over themselves to revere her. _Revere_ her – like she was a fucking saint or something.

She was just a person. Didn’t they see that? A simple human woman.

Well, that wasn’t accurate. She’d never been simple. She’d been an ugly child, and so she’d played with boys, getting into far more trouble than her parents thought her worth. She’d asked far too many questions for her tutors, and rejected every attempt her mother had made at making her ladylike. She’d then had the _gall_ to grow into a beautiful young woman, but of course she’d squandered that too by making witty, emasculating jokes about her suitors instead of dancing with them.

But still. She was far nicer here than she had been back in Ostwick, largely because she’d always gotten on better with soldiers, merchants, and well, the common people than she had with her peers. Nobles were so… stuffy. So bent on tradition and marriages and politics that they couldn’t see the real problems under their own noses.

She had friends here, something she’d not had at her family’s manor. She hadn’t gotten on well with any of the other young ladies she was supposed to have debuted into society with; they were a bunch of vapid, sniveling sycophants, and she’d hated every single one of them. She much preferred the company of men; men were simple, direct, and just more fun to be around. But Maker forbid her mother catch her alone with a dreaded _boy_ – the horror!

“What _is_ our problem?” she asked then, frowning intently at her tankard.

“I believe we’ve established that Corypheus is an ancient darkspawn magister,” Dorian replied.

“You don’t say,” Evelyn snapped back. “No, no, I meant _our_ problem.” She motioned to the two of them. “We are two of the nicest looking people in Skyhold.”

“And two of the most witty,” he supplied.

“That too,” she agreed. “We are _fantastic_ catches. Half the noblemen of Orlais have sent me personalized marriage contracts, and you have that whole ‘rebel with a cause’ thing working in your favor.”

Dorian sat up a little straighter then, smirking. “I suppose I do, don’t I?”

“So why has it been months since either of us got any action?” she demanded.

He frowned, deflating a bit at the question. He took several long minutes to consider this, his expression changing from confusion, to contemplation, and then to disbelief. “I don’t know what’s more appalling,” he said finally, looking back at her, “your assumption that it has been months, or that is has actually _been_ months.”

She tipped her head at him and took a long drink. “Honestly, you’d think I could find at least one man here who wanted to sleep with me,” she snapped.

Dorian chuckled. “They’re probably afraid to,” he said. “Being the Herald of Andraste and all, I suppose they think the Maker will smite them if they sully you.”

“Sully me,” she muttered darkly.

“Yes, someone seems to have given them the impression that you’re as virginal as untouched snow,” Dorian smirked, popping open another bottle of wine.

Evelyn rolled her eyes. Josephine had been working hard to make her reputation as sterling as could be. The fantastic part was that she was actually succeeding. Evelyn had to give credit where credit was due; it had seemed an impossible task to her. But none of the marriage contracts she’d been offered thus far had made any mention of her past… romantic experiments in Ostwick.

“You’re no snowflake yourself,” she shot back at him.

“Of course not,” he allowed. “But I wear my accomplishments on my sleeves. I can afford to. People have such low expectations of me to begin with; it’s fun to actually give them what they want.”

“Well, _I_ want a good, solid fuck,” she said bluntly. “And I’ve nowhere to find one.”

“You and me both, my dear,” Dorian sighed. “I’ve tried.”

Evelyn blinked. “You have?” she asked.

“What do you suppose I do all day?” he demanded. “Sit in the library and read your pathetic collection of badly written prose?”

“Mostly, I picture you drinking wine,” she admitted. “Lots of wine. And flirting with poor girls who don’t have a chance.” She grinned. “Maybe that’s the problem – you’re spending too much time with the girls, and not enough with the boys.”

“You may be right,” he said, leaning forward. He had a contemplative expression on his face, lost in thought.

She watched him for several moments, the wheels turning behind his eyes. In the meantime, she finished her tankard of ale. She wanted another, but it would have to wait for another time; she had to meet with a group of Antivan diplomats in the morning, and she would be _damned_ if they got to see her hungover. Now there was a punishment no one deserved.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Evelyn smirked. “Why, Dorian, you must know I’m not your type,” she said teasingly.

“You’re adorable,” he shot back.

“Alright then,” she said, leaning forward. “What’s your idea?”

“To be fair, we haven’t tried our hardest to find a partner,” he said quietly. She made to protest, and he held up a hand. “No, no, let me finish! I flirt with women, as you’ve so kindly pointed out, despite the fact that they have entirely too much bosom for my taste. And you expect men to approach _you_. But you’re the Inquisitor! You’re practically a demigod!

“No, no, my dear,” he continued, patting her hand consolingly. “We have been going about this entirely the wrong way.”

“And what do you suggest?”

“Perhaps it’s time we took our game to the next level,” he suggested. “Be bolder, take risks – all for the sake of our naughty bits!”

Evelyn considered this. It made sense. She supposed she was a bit guilty of waiting for the men to come to her. It’s what she had done her entire life. But before, she had merely been a pretty nobleman’s daughter. It was far easier to approach Lady Trevelyan of Ostwick than the leader of the Inquisition, the Herald of Andraste. Perhaps it was time to take matters into her own hands.

“For the sake of our vaginas,” she agreed.

Dorian cringed. “You really must stop that if this friendship is to continue,” he said flatly.

She laughed. “For the sake our naughty bits then,” she continued, “what do you suggest we do? Is there a plan brewing in that thick skull of yours, or are you just suggesting we go out and try harder?”

“Thick skull,” he snorted. “I think that alcohol is beginning to affect you. You just called _me_ thick-skulled, instead of Bull.”

“Get on with it, Dorian.”

“Each of us makes a list of people we find suitable. People with whom we would be willing to have a romantic tryst. Then we rank the list from the most desirable to the least. You can start at either end, but you keep going until you find a match.”

“A match?”

“Someone to fuck us senseless,” he rephrased, smiling devilishly at her.

“Then we stop once we’ve found a partner?” she guessed.

“Unless you want to continue on, see how many you can get,” he suggested.

She thought about it. “But what if the person on the list isn’t one for flings?” she asked. He cocked his head at her questioningly. “Say, for instance, they take longer to convince. Or perhaps they refuse to have flings at all, and desire more of a relationship. Do we put in the effort, or just move on to the next candidate?”

He shrugged. “Personal preference, I suppose,” he said.

“And what does the winner get?”

He blinked. “Winner?” he asked. “I don’t recall saying anything about a winner.”

“So this isn’t a game, or a bet?” she asked. She had to make sure – Dorian was famous for his bets around Skyhold, and she wasn’t going to be roped into one without knowing.

“Not at all,” he said. “As long as we’re successful, it’s winners all around, wouldn’t you say?”

She nodded. “It appears we need to be making our lists, then,” she said.

“How long will yours take? Three days?”

“Three days?” she repeated, surprised. “That long?”

“This isn’t a children’s game, Evelyn,” Dorian said sternly. “I intend to treat this quite seriously. In fact, my naughty bits demand it.”

She snorted. “Three days it is.”

* * * * *

Evelyn sat at her desk, impatiently tapping her foot against the side. Where was Dorian? They’d agreed to meet that night to discuss their lists. Nightfall, the mage had said. But the sun had long since sunk beneath the surrounding mountain peaks, and he was still nowhere to be seen. Had he forgotten? She found that unlikely, and wondered if something was detaining him.

She looked down at her list for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few days. She’d not been strict on whom she’d chosen – there were men that she found incredibly sexy as well as men she found only passingly attractive. There were men that were the highest quality marriage material and men she’d only fuck for the experience. She hoped Dorian’s list was equally exhaustive, or else they’d spend most of the evening discussing her potential partners. She was honestly more interested in discovering whom he desired. Who made Dorian Pavus weak in the knees?

The door to her private quarters opened, and she laid her list down. Dorian quickly hopped up the staircase, a touch out of breath. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, adjusting his rumpled clothing. “I was accosted by that Revered Mother you found in the Hinterlands.” He scrunched his nose. “Prying hen.”

“Be nice,” she admonished, smirking. “Mother Giselle did wonders for us in our Chantry relations.”

“Must I?” he asked plaintively, moving to sit across from her. "I don't like being nice." He held up a bottle of wine and two glasses. “I brought libations for the evening.”

“Only one bottle?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“The night is young,” he said mischievously. He uncorked the bottle with ease, pouring them two glasses of ruby-red wine. Evelyn accepted hers quite happily, taking a light sip. She made a pleased noise in the back of her throat – this was a good vintage. Dorian didn’t stint.

“So then,” the mage said, setting down his glass. “Down to business.”

“How do you want to go about this?”

“Well, I believe we should start by revealing our lists to each other,” he suggested. “Wouldn’t you say?”

“Sounds practical,” she said, reaching for her list again. Dorian pulled a sheet of parchment out of a pocket, smoothing the rumples out of it.

“Should we take turns?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she asked, taking another sip. By the Maker, but that was good stuff! Where had he found it? He must’ve raided the cellars again, for she’d never been served this.

“You’re right,” he allowed. “Let’s get straight to our top picks, shall we?”

They each sat there, waiting for the other to make an announcement. After a few moments of silence, Evelyn snorted. “That went well,” she said flatly.

“Let’s just say the names at the same time,” he suggested. “That way, it won’t feel so awkward.”

“Alright,” she agreed. “On three?”

“On three,” he nodded. “One, two, three-”

“Cullen.”

“The Commander.”

Well. This complicated things a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate any and all feedback :)


	2. The Embarrassment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful reception the first chapter of this received! :) Nothing makes me happier than reading all the lovely comments :)

“Andraste’s tits.”

For a moment, the two of them just sat there staring at each other.

Evelyn didn’t know what to say. She’d picked Cullen because the man was terribly handsome, perfectly muscled, and had that authoritative persona that she so loved in bed. He was also a gentleman, and would be as discreet as she asked him to be. That is, _if_ he accepted her proposition; there were no guarantees. He might think it a horrendous idea and refuse outright.

“You want to fuck Cullen?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you were friends.”

Dorian snorted. “Have you never wanted to fuck one of your friends?” he asked dryly. She thought about it, and realized he was right. There had been some boys growing up that she’d harbored quite the attraction for; she’d not acted on them, of course. The friendship was more important than her pleasure, and she wasn't known for taking chances. Evidently, Dorian was willing to take risks she hadn’t.

“But I don’t get it,” Evelyn persisted. “You’ve never mentioned this before.”

Dorian shrugged. “You never asked,” he replied. “And besides – I’m not harboring an emotional attachment to the man. I’m just firmly respectful of the curve of his ass.”

“In leather,” she added.

“And the way that armor accentuates his shoulders?” Dorian shuddered. “Men in uniform always get me in trouble.”

Evelyn sat back in her chair, taking a drink of wine. “Does Cullen even like men that way?” she asked. She’d never asked; her conversations with her military advisor tended to focus on just that – the Inquisition’s military. He was decidedly reserved in most other aspects. It was more than a bit surprising that Dorian had befriended him so quickly; it was quite an unlikely pairing.

“I don’t think so,” he replied.

She raised an eyebrow at her friend. “Then won’t that make things… difficult?” she asked.

Dorian snorted into his own glass of wine. “My dear girl, that’s half the fun,” he said. His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Where’s the adventure in chasing someone you know can be caught? Everyone wants a taste of that forbidden fruit. You just have to give them the right… incentives.”

“Then how does this work?” she asked.

“Well, I believe I’ll start with flirtation, but I’ll have to add touching as well,” Dorian explained. “The Commander can be wonderfully dense sometimes-”

“Not what I meant,” she snapped.

“Then how do two men have sex?” He shook his head. “Really, Evelyn, I’d have thought you’d have known this one. It’s quite simple really – all about finding the right holes.”

She picked up a spare pen and threw it at him.

The mage shot her an affronted look. “That was unnecessary,” he said flatly.

“Was it though?”

“We need a plan,” he said. “We can’t both attack the Commander at once. He’s not stupid.” He paused to consider for a moment. He then looked up at her. “Who else is on your list?”

Evelyn looked down at the parchment that remained in her hands. She brought it up to the light and began to read. “Hawke, Ser Barris of the Templars, Frederic of Serault-”

“That spindly professor we found lurking in the Western Approach?” Dorian barked out a laugh. “What in Thedas could he possibly offer you?”

“I don’t know what it is about him,” she admitted, grinning. “Maybe it’s the accent. Or how adorably focused he is on his jobs. The Approach was crawling with bandits and varghests, and yet he couldn’t be bothered to even leave his camp.” She snorted. “If he’s that single-minded in _all_ of his endeavors…”

“Duly noted. Continue.”

“Krem, Bull, Professor Kenric-”

“I’m sensing a theme here.”

Evelyn glared at him. “If you’re questioning my taste in men, feel free to enlighten me as to which ones are more worthy of my attention,” she snapped.

“Since you asked for it,” Dorian said, brandishing his list with a flourish. “Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition. Devon Hawke, apostate and Champion of Kirkwall. The Iron Bull, mercenary extraordinaire and outlandish brute.”

“Don’t you two hate each other?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “Being that you’re from Tevinter and he’s Qunari, and all that.”

“Hate him?” Dorian repeated, surprised. “Of course not! He’s simply a tool in the Qunari woodshed, an implement of mindless destruction. You don’t hate your hammer when you drop it on your foot.”

Evelyn snorted. “Forget I asked,” she muttered.

“Michel de Chevin, chevalier of Orlais. Sebastian Vael-”

“Wait. You’re giving me grief for finding professors attractive, and you’re harboring a crush on a _priest_?”

“Your Chantry doesn’t allow priests, Evelyn,” Dorian said reprovingly. “You southerners were quite clear on that point.”

“He might as well be a priest!” Evelyn snapped. “He was given to the Chantry as a boy!”

“A waste,” Dorian nodded. “Those eyes are wasted on the celibate.”

“On that point, we can agree. Is there anyone else?”

“And Jim.”

She blinked at him rather owlishly. “Who?”

“Jim.” Dorian shot her a knowing look. “You’ve heard of Jim, correct?”

“I can’t say I have,” she said, frowning.

“He’s a messenger. Rather mundane man, really, not much to look at. But he’s rumored to be the best tumble in Skyhold.”

“I thought you preferred pretty things,” she said.

“Don’t we all?” Dorian snorted. “He’s mostly a curiosity. It may not happen.”

Evelyn sighed. She reached for her wine before realizing it was empty. She supposed that was for the better. They needed to figure out a plan. Getting drunk would likely not help with that.

“We need to think of something,”

“Agreed.”

“Should we draw lots?”

“There’s only the two of us,” Dorian mused. “Is it drawing lots if there’s only two options?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Dorian considered this for a moment before his face brightened. “I’ve got it!” he said, leaning forward. “I’ll fight you for him!”

“Eh-hem.”

Evelyn stood up in surprise when she heard a throat being cleared. She blushed, mortified, when she saw Cullen standing there, a stack of reports she’d requested earlier in his hands. He had a confused expression on his face, and was looking between the two of them suspiciously.

“Has someone insulted you, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked, moving a step forward.

"Insulted me?" she repeated blankly.

“Dorian offered to fight someone for you,” he continued, uncertainty creeping into his voice. “I thought perhaps another malcontent had insulted you.”

“I actually offered to fight _her_ for someone,” Dorian interjected, grinning.

“Oh.” Cullen frowned. “Have _you_ offended someone? Are they threatening you?”

“No!” Evelyn said quickly. "Maker!" She moved to take the stack of papers out of Cullen’s hands; he relinquished them easily enough, but continued to stand there.

“I’m sorry if I’ve intruded on something,” he began, half-turning to walk away. "But your door was open, and you said you needed those reports..."

“Now, hold on a moment,” Dorian said, standing up and moving over to the man. He stood by his side and looked over at Evelyn, putting a hand to his chin. “Tell me, Commander, is our Inquisitor not a vision of female beauty?”

Evelyn’s face burned.

Thankfully, so did Cullen’s. He shot the mage a dirty look before looking back at Evelyn. He studied her for a moment, never meeting her eyes. “Yes,” he said simply. “She’s… beautiful.” He looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

Evelyn shot Dorian a dirty look, but he merely grinned. “Wouldn’t you say she is worthy of the finest male attention?” he asked, nudging Cullen when he refused to answer.

“Maker’s breath,” she heard her Commander mutter. He rubbed the back of his neck to cover the peek he took at her. “Yes, Dorian, the Inquisitor deserves a man who is her equal in word and deed. And appearance.”

Dorian sighed then. “Would you believe that she is woefully lonely?”

“Dorian!” Evelyn snapped. That was quite enough! She rushed forward, practically shoving the mage away. “I’m terribly sorry,” she directed towards Cullen, cheeks flaming. She dragged him towards the stairs, allowing him the escape he so obviously craved. “He’s had far too much to drink tonight.”

“Ah, yes,” Cullen replied awkwardly. He gave her a hesitant smile. “He does that sometimes.”

Evelyn snorted. “More like all of the time,” she said.

“You have me there.” Cullen paused then, as if waiting for her to say more. But she didn’t know what to say – she was already embarrassed enough. A very large part of her wanted to sink into the floor that very instant instead of being subjected to his curious gaze. “Well, then. I shall take my leave. I added a few extra reports that I thought you might find interesting.”

“I’ll read them,” she said weakly. He gave her a final nod before leaving, firmly closing the door to her private quarters behind him.

Evelyn whirled back into the room, furious. “What was that about?” she demanded of Dorian, who had nonchalantly settled onto a small couch, sipping wine.

He rolled his eyes. “I was giving you a head start,” he said flatly. “An opportunity you squandered, by the way. Very smooth!”

She scowled at him. “Thank you _so_ much for that,” she snapped. She sighed then, her anger abating as quickly as it had come, replaced by her utter mortification. “What am I going to do now?” she asked, sinking into a chair. “I can’t very well proposition him when I can’t even look him in the face!”

“What are you embarrassed of?” Dorian demanded, moving into a seated position. “I paid you compliments! And nothing I said wasn’t true.”

“But did you have to tell him that I'm woefully lonely?” she asked. " _Woefully?_ " She shook her head. “I’ll just move on to Hawke. At least I can speak to him without resembling a tomato.”

“…you’re sure?” Dorian asked slowly.

“Have him, Dorian!”

The mage sighed, standing up. “I’m sorry if I… oh, bollocks,” he said. His face was genuinely apologetic, and Evelyn waved a hand dismissively. It wasn’t that big of a deal. It wasn’t. So she’d embarrassed herself in front of Cullen. So what? It wasn’t the first – and she highly doubted it would be the last – time she’d been mortified in front of a handsome man. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she replied softly.

“No, really, I pushed too-”

“Dorian.” Evelyn shot him a look. “Leave it.”

He smiled tentatively at her, a gesture she returned. “I know a way you can make it up to me,” she said.

“Yes?”

She held up the now empty bottle of wine. “Fetch me some more of these, will you?”

“I’ve taught you so many bad habits,” he admonished her, smirking. “I shouldn’t indulge them.” But he made to leave the room anyways.

“You shouldn’t, but you will,” she replied.

“You know me too well.”

* * * * *

Evelyn had put it off for as long as she could. She’d read Cullen’s reports, annotated them, and read them again. She’d tried to just leave them in his office, but he’d been plagued with headaches the past few days and hadn’t left the tower. She’d even tried to convene her war council, hoping she could just pass them off to him without the requisite small talk. But she didn’t have such luck. Of course the one time that she _wanted_ to hold a meeting, there was no business to attend.

So she’d finally plucked up her courage and decided to talk to him.

Alone.

She hesitated before the door, her hand poised in midair. She really didn’t want to do this. She really didn’t. But what choice did she have? No doubt Cullen was waiting for her instruction on several operations, and she couldn’t delay any longer.

Sighing, she knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a strong, male voice called from the other side.

Steeling herself, Evelyn pushed into the room, her lower lip between her teeth. Cullen was standing behind his desk, looking down at a map. He looked drawn, his skin pale enough to show the dark circles beneath his eyelids. The headaches must have been very bad then; she knew he was experiencing lyrium withdrawal, but she was always surprised at how vehement his symptoms were.

He looked up as she entered, and immediately straightened. “Inquisitor,” he greeted her.

She held up the stack of reports in her hand. “I have these back for you,” she said, moving to hand them to him.

He took them easily. “Thank you,” he replied curtly. “I will see to these operations at once. I’ll keep you updated on their success.”

“Very good,” she said. He was looking back at the map again. She hesitated; had he forgotten their exchange a few nights ago? Or had he not paid it any attention? Had he written it off completely? It certainly seemed that way. “You don’t look well," she said, trying to get more of a reaction out of him.

He snorted. “Lyrium withdrawal has that effect on people,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn sighed. “That was… thoughtless of me.” So much for  _that_ attempt.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re right.” He looked up at her then, a sardonic smirk tugging at his lips. It made the scar on his mouth twist, though not unpleasantly. “I do look terrible.” He sighed then, looking away. “It’s not the headaches themselves so much as the lack of sleep. Between the pain and the nightmares, I’m afraid I haven’t gotten more than a few hours’ rest in the past several days.”

He rubbed his neck anxiously at her sharp intake of breath. “I didn’t know it was that bad,” she admitted.

“I… don’t want to be a source of worry for you,” he said quietly. “I will deal with this on my own.”

“Yes, but if you need a break, or a… a distraction, or something,” she sputtered, “it can be done! There’s no need to push yourself so hard-”

“I assure you, Inquisitor, I have it well under control,” he said firmly.

She nodded, looking down at her feet absently. This was going terribly. She couldn’t think straight, let alone talk straight; her mind was still on their past encounter. She was surprised at how little it was affecting him, though she supposed his health was a good distractor.

“Woefully lonely.”

Evelyn looked up then, surprised to find Cullen openly staring at her. His face was contemplative. “I’m sorry?” she frowned.

“Dorian said that you were woefully lonely. The other night,” he clarified quickly, seeing her lost expression.

She flushed, letting out a nervous laugh. “Dorian exaggerates,” she muttered.

“Was he right?”

The Commander had a strange expression on his face. She stared back at him as she thought of a suitable answer, lost in the curious gleam in his eyes. He wasn’t teasing her, or trying to prod. Nor was there any amusement in his features. It was just an honest question.

“Not… well…” She huffed. “Yes and no.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’ll have to explain that one to me, Inquisitor.” One of his hands absently landed on the pommel of his sword.

How did she say this? She wasn’t lonely – people surrounded her at every hour of the day, and many of those people she counted as friends. There was Dorian, and Varric, and Bull. She spent a fair amount of time with the Chargers. When she needed female companionship, she always had Cassandra, and Sera. What she didn’t have was male companionship. Of the sexual nature.

But how did she say that to her Commander?

“I-”

The door burst open then, and Dorian sauntered in. He paused when he saw that Evelyn was there, raising an eyebrow at her. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

“No!” Evelyn said quickly. “Not at all. I was just leaving!”

“Inquisitor-”

“I await those progress reports, Commander!”

* * * * *

Cullen sighed as Evelyn fled from his office. It didn’t appear as if she could move fast enough for her liking. Was it something he’d said?

He turned his attention to Dorian. “Did you need something?” he asked.

“I was hoping for a game of chess,” the mage replied, stepping forward. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Unless you’re up for something more?” He wiggled an eyebrow suggestively.

Cullen didn’t take the bait. “I suppose one game would be alright,” he said, stepping back from his desk. “Only _one_ game though – I have several reports to write, and the Inquisitor just brought even more for me to review.” He motioned for Dorian to lead the way to the gardens.

The mage smirked at him as they left the tower. There was a skip to his steps, a saunter to his movements that made Cullen believe he was in a very good mood today. He absently wondered why. Had something happened that he was unaware of? That didn’t seem likely; it was part of his duties to be well informed on the goings-on in Skyhold. He wasn’t quite as good at it as Leliana, but then again, who was?

They were silent all the way to the gardens. It was a comfortable silence, one Cullen didn’t feel the need to fill. To tell the truth, he’d needed the break. He’d been reading reports all morning, and if he had to hear one more bit of inane babble about the excessive sand in the Approach or the latest inept recruits, he’d lash out at someone. Or something. Probably with violence.

Dorian settled into a chair and began to correct the white pieces. Cullen sat opposite him, doing the same for the black pieces. Dorian always liked to play as white – he didn’t like going second. It mattered little to Cullen; those truly good at the game didn’t need to move first.

“The Inquisitor seemed very nervous back in your office.”

Cullen looked up, watching Dorian’s face as he made his first move. “Did she?” he asked absently, eyes flicking back to the board.

“Did you say something scandalous?”

“What?” Cullen asked sharply. “Of course not.”

The mage chuckled. “Or perhaps it was the other way around?”

Cullen frowned. “What are you talking about?” he asked. He was beginning to get the sneaking suspicion that something was going on behind his back. From Dorian’s attitude to his words… something was off. “This isn’t some kind of bet, is it?”

“Not at all,” Dorian replied, surveying the board.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Cullen admitted.

They sat in silence for a while, trading moves. Dorian tended to choose bold moves, risky gambles that often didn’t pay off. Cullen, on the other hand, was the more strategic player, willing to wait for exactly the right opportunity. It normally gave him the upper hand. Of course, Dorian also cheated at every given chance, so he had to remain on his guard.

“You know, Commander, you are probably the most eligible bachelor in Skyhold.”

Had Cullen had anything in his mouth, he would have choked. As it was, he snorted in a rather undignified manner. “What?” he asked thickly, eyes watering.

“Think about it,” Dorian continued, flippantly moving a knight to a new square. “You’re not a nobleman, so the common people can approach you. But you’re the Commander of the Inquisition, so you also have some modicum of power; that means you’re fair game for the nobility as well. And has anyone ever told you how attractive you are?”

Cullen scowled. “I believe _you_ do at every opportunity,” he muttered, countering Dorian’s move.

“And you have, without a doubt, the _finest_ ass in-”

“Dorian.”

“Alright, alright.” Dorian backed off. “But really, Commander, why haven’t you done anything about it?”

“About what?” Cullen asked.

“Surely there’s someone here in Skyhold who’s taken your fancy.”

“Not particularly,” he replied.

Romance was the last thing on his mind. He had responsibilities here, duties that simply could not be shirked. Compounded with the effects of lyrium withdrawal, it was a recipe for a disaster. He certainly didn’t need the added onus of a romantic relationship. Not that it would be a burden, in that scenario. But he really wasn’t looking to find that sort of thing here.

“So you haven’t…” Dorian made a suggestive gesture.

Cullen rolled his eyes. “No,” he replied sharply.

“Not even once?”

“Some of us are in control of our libido’s,” Cullen said, shooting Dorian a dark glance. The mage merely smirked, not even a hint of shame on his face.

“It would be a shame to not share my talents with the world,” Dorian replied wickedly.

“Keep it in your pants, Dorian.”

“What, you don’t want a taste?”

Cullen snorted again. “I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, Dorian – no, thank you,” he said.

“Pity that,” the mage replied. “I’ve been told I’m quite delicious.”

“Who in Thedas told you that?” Cullen asked, shaking his head.

“He was a-”

“No, stop,” he said quickly, holding up a hand. “On second thought, I don’t want to know the answer to that.”

“Your loss, Commander,” Dorian replied. “It’s really quite a story.”

“You say that about _every_ story you tell.”

“But it’s true!”

Their conversation lapsed again as they moved into the more serious stage of the game. Dorian had lost many of his pieces fast, but he was making up for it with a bold strategy that had Cullen on the defensive. Every move he made now counted, and he was paying extra close attention to the board. Which was why he found Dorian’s next question incredibly distracting.

“You weren’t lying the other night when you said Evelyn was beautiful, were you?”

Cullen looked up from the board. “No,” he said blankly. “She is… she is very beautiful.” That was an understatement; years of careful noble breeding had culminated in Evelyn Trevelyan. She was exquisite, with gently waving ebony hair and long, wide-set jade eyes. Her delicate bone structure belied the strength of her body, proudly displayed with every shot of her bow. He’d observed more than one longing gaze sent in her direction, though he’d never seen anyone work up the courage to court her.

Dorian leaned back in his chair. “She’s also very, very available,” he said, smirking.

“I am aware of that,” Cullen replied.

“Don’t you think that odd?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Cullen cautiously made a move before he looked over at his friend. “I… suppose,” he offered. What was Dorian getting at with these questions? Yes, the Inquisitor was beautiful. No, she wasn’t currently involved in any romantic relationships, so far as Cullen knew. But if she chose a partner, that was her business and none of his. It wasn’t Dorian’s business either, though the two of them were thick as thieves.

“Tell me, have you ever considered pursuing her?”

“You must be joking,” Cullen said sharply.

“For once in my life, no,” Dorian replied. “Not at all.” He folded his hands in front of him. “I’m entirely serious.”

“I have not once thought of it.” He moved a final piece on the chessboard. “And I believe I just won.” He sat back in his chair, grinning. Dorian could try to fluster him all that he wanted – he would win regardless!

Dorian looked down at the board and scowled. “Don’t get too cocky,” he said, standing. “There’ll be no living with you.” He stalked off then, leaving Cullen to return to his office alone.

Cullen took the stairs to his tower two at a time; the break had done him good. He felt refocused, renewed with energy to tackle the rest of the day’s tasks. Perhaps he would even finish early, leaving him some time to himself. He might even get to dinner on time, for once.

The thought cheered him as he entered his office and sat down at his desk. He quickly set aside the report he’d been writing, grabbing the stack of papers the Inquisitor had brought back to him. He flipped through the entire stack, amused at how many notes she’d scribbled in the margins. He admired how thorough she was; in another life, she’d have made an excellent clerk.

He chuckled. Best not to tell her that. She’d probably bite his head off.

Thinking of the Inquisitor drew his mind back to Dorian’s earlier questions. What had the mage been getting at? Of course he’d never considered courting the Inquisitor. She had her duties, and her burden was far heavier than his own. She was also far above his station. He’d noticed her beauty, of course – he wasn’t blind. But acting upon his instinctual attraction to her had never crossed his mind. He hadn’t even thought much about it after their first meeting.

Dorian’s questions, however, were nagging at him. Why didn’t she have a lover? It was very odd. Men were never far away from a beautiful woman, even one as intimidating as the Inquisitor. Perhaps she wasn’t interested in men? But no, he’d heard her reject Sera’s advances often enough. But then what…

He paused, his pen falling lax in his hand.

Dorian had said she was lonely.

Perhaps it was because no one dared to approach her? He hadn’t considered that before. Maybe it wasn’t that no one wanted to court her so much as no one had the courage to. That made much more sense. He felt a pang of empathy for the Inquisitor then; he knew what it was like to frighten those around him. With a shudder, he repressed the memories of Kirkwall that threatened to creep up and drown him. No, now was not the time to think of _that_.

He attempted to return to his work, sending for several messengers to carry newly written missives. He successfully avoided thoughts of his past for the rest of the afternoon, throwing himself into his work with vigor. 

He could not, however, stop thinking about the lonely and lovely Evelyn Trevelyan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) 
> 
> This the last bit of what I had written out, so I'm not sure how fast the next chapter will be in coming out. I am also going out of town Friday (San Diego, woohoo!), and I'm not sure how much, if any, writing will be done. But who really knows? hahahaha
> 
> As always, let me know how I did, if you care to :)


	3. The First Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Hawke makes an appearance this chapter, I'll explain my take on him. 
> 
> This is my Devon Hawke from DA II. He was a mage, and romanced Anders before Anders went and blew up the Chantry, and has only ever romanced male companions. However, I have used the default Bioware appearance for him because A) Bioware got his character EXCEPTIONALLY well developed, B) I honestly don't remember exactly how he looked in my game, and C) my game didn't transfer correctly to DA:I, so I pretty much haven't seen my Hawke in several years. 
> 
> Hope that makes sense!

“Champion of Kirkwall.”

Hawke looked over at Evelyn from across the table. He raised an eyebrow at her questioningly.

“That’s quite a title,” she continued, smiling.

“So is Inquisitor,” he reminded her, returning her grin.

She sighed. “I have to say, it wasn’t one I was hoping to add to my name,” she admitted. “Lady Evelyn Trevelyan of Ostwick was more than enough for me.”

“Ostwick, was it?” Hawke set down the map he’d been perusing, now giving her his full attention. “I’ve not been to Ostwick in a good while. Has it changed much?”

Evelyn snorted. “Nothing changes much in Ostwick,” she said flatly. “It was the talk of the city when they tore down that dreadful statue in the market square. You’d have thought they’d decided to paint all the buildings puce.”

He chuckled. “I wish I could say the same for Kirkwall, but I fear altogether _too_ much has changed there.”

“Do you miss it?” she asked.

“Yes and no,” Hawke said slowly. He picked up a stone paperweight, turning it in his fingers as he considered his answer. “It’s as much a home as I’ll ever have. What remains of my family is there. But…” He shook his head. “So much has changed, so many things happened. I both detest and love that city.”

She smiled in what she hoped was a comforting manner. “Well, we’re glad to have you here,” she said, reaching over to grasp his hand across the table. He looked down at her slim fingers on his bare skin. She tensed, wondering if she’d been too forward. But then he looked over at her and smiled, and she sensed all was well.

“It’s good to be here,” he commented lightly. He took her hand then, turning it over to expose the anchor. It was pulsating softly, filling the area with an eerie green glow. “May I?” he asked, motioning to the mark; she nodded, flexing her fingers in invitation. Gingerly, he pressed down upon the strip of green; when she didn’t respond, he pressed a little harder.

“It’s fascinating,” he said finally, continuing to stare at her hand. “And you still have no idea how this happened?”

“Not at all,” she replied. He’d returned his gaze to her face, but kept his grip on her hand. That was a good sign, right?

“Perhaps my friend in the Wardens will know more,” Hawke said quietly.

“Who is this friend of yours?” Evelyn asked, leaning forward over the table. She’d purposefully chosen a tighter fitting tunic today, and she’d left the top buttons undone. She was well aware of the expanse of creamy bosom she’d left exposed, and she planned on putting it to good use.

Hawke seemed unaffected however, answering her question easily. “His name is Stroud,” he replied. “He’s a senior Warden from Orlais, and a good friend of mine for several years now.”

“I’ve never heard his name,” she replied.

“I doubt you would have,” Hawke snorted. He smiled at her. “He keeps to himself for the most part. Lately, he’s been heading east, trying to avoid capture by the other Grey Wardens under Clarel.” His smile faded then. “I hope they haven’t caught up to him.”

“We will find your friend,” Evelyn said quickly. “And then we will find out what is wrong with the other Grey Wardens.”

“I hope so,” he replied. He finally took his hand away, and leaned back in his chair. He put his hands behind his head then, looking down at the courtyard. Evelyn took the covert opportunity to study him. He was very handsome, perhaps even more so than Cullen. But it was a different sort of handsome – where Cullen was gold and steel, Hawke was umber and leather. He wore a beard where Cullen was clean-shaven. And of course, Hawke was a mage where Cullen had been a Templar. 

“I hear you have a mage from Tevinter in your party.”

Evelyn was drawn from her reverie by Hawke’s statement. “Yes,” she replied automatically, not fully processing the question. “His name is Dorian.”

“Is he a blood mage?”

“Of course not!” she said sharply. “Why would you-” But of course he would ask such a question. She’d wondered herself when she’d first met Dorian. Everyone thought Tevinter such a savage land. Everyone assumed they all practiced blood magic. It had taken befriending an actual Tevinter mage to learn that that wasn’t the case.

“I had to ask,” Hawke said quickly. “And I meant no offense.” He sighed, looking away again. “Blood magic is never the answer,” he muttered darkly. “It is used only to take, and never to give. Not even mages should have that kind of power.”

“You talk as if you’ve been around it,” Evelyn said tentatively. She was sensing this was a touchy subject with Hawke, and she didn’t want to step on his toes.

“I have,” he said shortly. “And it is evil.”

Yes, it was definitely time to change the subject. “Would you like to meet him?” she asked, blurting out the first question that came to mind.

“Hmm?” Hawke returned his dark gaze to her, raising an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Dorian,” she clarified. “He’s a very dear friend of mine. If you don’t mind him flirting your ear off, I’m sure he’d love to talk to you about magical theory, and whatnot.”

“And whatnot?” Hawke’s voice was hesitant, but a small smile was creeping at his lips.

“He’ll probably make several comments about your ass,” Evelyn admitted. “And have no doubts that he will shamelessly proposition you.”

“You think so?” he asked speculatively.

Evelyn paused then. Wait. Hawke was taking this much better than expected. He didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable at the thought of her very male friend flirting with him. Did that…?

“That doesn’t bother you, does it?” she asked.

“Of course not,” he replied blankly. They stared at each other for a moment, both clearly sensing that something was amiss and not quite knowing what to say. Finally, Hawke chuckled, looking down at the table between them. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” she asked, trying not to let her confusion overshadow her voice too much.

Hawke shook his head, his shaggy hair flopping about. “I would’ve thought Varric had mentioned it,” he muttered. “Leave it to that damn dwarf to save me the explaining.” He looked up at her then. “Have you at least heard of Anders?”

“Of course,” she replied. “He was the rebel mage who blew up Kirkwall’s Chantry. We heard about it in Ostwick. _And_ Varric might’ve said a few things about him.”

“Nothing good, I imagine,” Hawke snorted. “For what’s it worth, he thought he was doing the right thing. And I’m not entirely certainly that it _was_ Anders who was ultimately responsible for the explosion.”

“You mean his possession?”

He nodded. “Anders always claimed it was a spirit of Justice, but I’m not so sure,” he said. “It might have been that in the beginning, but towards the end…?” He shook his head, and then sighed. “Anyways. Before he added ‘destroyer of religious houses’ to his list of bad deeds, the two of us were close. Very close.” His eyes flashed then and she understood.

Oh. _Oh_. She sat back in her chair then, very uncomfortably aware of her cleavage then. Well, that certainly settled it; it wasn’t that her breasts were defective. At least that was good to know. She couldn’t help but flush slightly as she rearranged her hair in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

“I’m sorry if you… thought differently about me,” he said. To his credit, he sounded sincere and not even a bit awkward.

“No, no,” she said quickly. She laughed, and cringed at how nervous it sounded to her ears. “I didn’t know, but no, not a problem.”

“That’s good.”

“Are you still with Anders then?” She had to get this conversation back on track; she felt entirely like a fool for not knowing, for not _guessing_ , and she didn’t like it one bit. She had to salvage what she could of this mess.

“Maker, no,” Hawke said emphatically. “After what he did… he’s possessed. By a _demon_. And he refuses to see it.” He shook his head. “I tried to reason with him, but he was too far gone by that point.”

“I’m sorry to hear that it ended badly.”

Hawke sighed. “It was for the best, I think,” he said. He paused then before shooting her a curious glance. “This friend of yours. Dorian. What does he look like?”

“Oh, he’s very handsome,” Evelyn replied, smiling. Now _this_ was a more promising direction. If she couldn’t have Hawke herself, maybe she could at least send him Dorian’s way. “He’s got half the women in Skyhold eating out of his hand, and the other half all make eyes at him behind his back.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Don’t tell him I said that though – it’ll go straight to his head.”

Hawke chuckled. “So are we talking pretty boy handsome?” he asked. “Or more of a soldier, more rugged?”

“Definitely pretty boy,” she snorted. Dorian was about as rugged as satin slippers.

“Interesting.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you not like pretty men?” she asked.

He chuckled again. “On the contrary, Inquisitor, I _quite_ like pretty men,” he admitted. He turned to face her, leaning over the table so that he could lower his voice. “I can’t promise him anything – I never know where I’m going to be at any given time.”

“I sincerely doubt he’ll have a problem with that,” she said, leaning over the table in turn.

He nodded. “Good. I’m meeting with Varric later about some… prior dealings we’ve had. You’ll understand if I can’t exactly speak of them.” Evelyn rolled her eyes, but smiled and nodded just the same. Typical. “But I’ve taken up a space in the west tower. If your friend wishes to meet me later… I’ll hardly complain.”

She sat back, grinning. “I think I can arrange something. If he agrees, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But in the meantime, I’ll work on getting the team ready to go to Crestwood.” She stood, gathering up the map in her arms. “We should be able to leave within the week. Is your friend expecting us?”

“He awaits you even as we speak.” Hawke stood up as well.

“I’ll let my advisors know.” She reached out to shake the hand he offered her. His grasp was warm and strong, and his hand dwarfed her own. And there was that saying about men with big hands…

She couldn’t help but smirk.

Dorian _really_ owed her one now.

* * * * *

Where the devil could that woman be?

Dorian sank down into a chair in the tavern, settling his chin on the palm of his hand as he took a moment to rest his feet. He was searching for Evelyn; it was going rather dismally, if he did say so himself. She wasn’t in her quarters or the war room. He’d not found her talking with any of their friends. She wasn’t in the stables, seeing to her horse, and she wasn’t in the library doing some much needed studying.

So where could she be?

A dark, hulking figure moved into the chair across from him. Dorian blinked as the Iron Bull came into his field of vision, two tankards of ale in his hands. “What’s this?” he asked, sitting up straighter.

“No one comes into a tavern at this time of day unless they’re an alcoholic or they live there,” the Qunari grunted, handing Dorian one of the cups.

Dorian frowned at him. “What are you suggesting?” he asked guardedly, taking the cup. He raised it to his nose hesitantly, cringing at the smell. He wasn’t a fan of southern brews. He had a feeling horse piss had a similar consistency.

“I live here,” Bull continued. “What’s your excuse?”

“I’m looking for the Inquisitor,” Dorian sighed. He took a drink, just to see if it as bad as his nose predicted. He instantly regretted his decision. Would it be rude to spit it back into the cup? Bull was watching him, his lone eye intent. Damn. He swallowed hard then, and set the cup aside.

“Not to your taste?” Bull smirked.

“How do you manage to drink that swill?” Dorian demanded.

“This?” Bull raised his tankard, and drained it. “This is practically water! Are you ‘Vints all such snots about your liquor?”

“I prefer drinks that don’t resemble urine,” Dorian snapped.

Bull shrugged, nonplussed. He reached over then and took Dorian’s cup back. “Suit yourself,” he said, taking a drink out of it. “And boss isn’t here.”

Dorian sighed. “So I have gathered,” he muttered darkly.

“Did you gather anything else?” Bull asked. “If you had half a brain, you’d know she’s up on the ramparts with Hawke.”

Dorian blinked. She was? How did Bull know that? The Qunari fixed him with a knowing eye then. But of course. Bull was far more observant than he led on. Which was saying quite a lot, really, considering he acted like a great lummox most of the time.

“Discussing the journey to Crestwood, I suppose,” Dorian murmured. He didn’t think that was the case; they’d already planned the trip, for the most part. No, Evelyn was likely putting the moves on the man. But he couldn’t very well tell _Bull_ that.

He hoped she was having more luck than he was. Not that he’d made much of an attempt thus far. He was still trying to decide which man he wished to pursue. There were just so many delectable choices! The Orlesian chevalier wasn’t currently in Skyhold; nor was Sebastian Vael. It was easy enough to take them out of the equation for now. And Cullen had been feeling ill for the past few days; even Dorian wasn’t so base as to pounce on him now. He too wasn't an option at present.

That left Hawke, Iron Bull, and Jim. His first choice was obviously Hawke. The man just _dripped_ sex. But Evelyn had claimed him after Dorian had sullied her chances with Cullen. He’d have to lay off the Champion of Kirkwall for now. Pity that. He would much rather lay _on_ him.

He eyed Bull covertly. The Qunari was looking out the door, watching people as they moved across the courtyard. Bull was like that – always watching. He saw more than he should have, and never revealed the cards in his hand. There was something deeply unsettling about him, and it wasn’t just that he was a Qunari mercenary. Dorian wasn’t quite ready to tap into that can of worms just yet.

“You’re quiet.”

Dorian looked up. “Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of quiet contemplation,” he smirked.

“Are you?” Bull chuckled. “I was afraid I was going to have to hold you down and gag you on that last mission to the Hinterlands.”

Was that… was the Iron Bull _flirting_ with him? No. No, he must have misconstrued the other’s words. “Please don't,” he said lightly. “I prefer only the finest silk bindings, and I’m quite sure you don’t have any of those.”

“You might be surprised.”

“To discover you had silk bindings tucked away in your bedroll?” Dorian snorted. “Oh, I would be very much surprised. Leather seems more your type.”

“Do you want to go and check?”

“Do you even have a room?” Dorian asked, cocking his head to the side. “Or do you just spend all of your time here in the tavern? I see you’ve claimed your bench.”

“Oh, I have a room,” Bull replied, taking another drink. His eye never left Dorian’s over the rim of the tankard. “Though it needs to be… broken in.”

No. That was _definitely_ flirting.

For once, Dorian was at a loss for words. He’d flirted with countless men and women over the years. He had an extensive vocabulary, and was rather good at coming up with things on the spot, if he did say so himself. But this was not just any man or any woman – this was the Iron Bull. And here Dorian had thought the other hated him.

“As fun as that sounds, I really must be going,” he said instead, pushing himself to his feet.

Bull shrugged in response. Dorian waited for the quip, but Bull didn’t seem interested in baiting him. Shaking his head, Dorian made for the door.

He didn’t think he’d ever understand Qunari.

* * * * *

“There you are!”

Evelyn looked up from her book. She snapped it closed when she recognized Dorian, sitting up a little straighter in her chair. He walked over to her, dropping down into a seat across from her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, you know,” he huffed.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I was talking to Hawke, but I didn’t have any other plans for the day.” She brandished the book in her hands. “I thought I’d do a little light reading.”

“ _Swords & Shields_?” Dorian snorted. “You read that drivel?”

She scowled at him. “It's not like I have anything else to get me going at the moment,” she muttered. “Besides. Cassandra’s been begging me to read it for weeks. She wants to… compare fan theories, I suppose.”

Dorian barked out a laugh at that. “Oh, please, can I listen in on that conversation?” he asked. “I want to see the Seeker’s face when she uses all of those penis euphemisms!”

“So penis is perfectly acceptable but vagina makes you cringe?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes.

“Of course,” he said blankly. “I _like_ penises.”

She shook her head, though she couldn’t help but smile at his forthrightness. “Speaking of penises,” she said then, remembering her earlier conversation with Hawke. “I had a little chat with Hawke earlier.”

“Did you now?” Dorian looked down at his fingernails, inspecting them for dirt. He already knew then; someone must have seen them on the ramparts. “And how did that go?”

“Hawke seems to like penises as well,” she said flatly, cocking her head at her friend. “Did you know that?”

The mage edged around in his seat. “I had an inkling, but I couldn’t know for certain without asking.”

“An inkling?” she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest. And he hadn’t thought she might have wanted to know that _before_ trying to seduce him? That was the second man who'd seen her utterly mortified this week. Her list of potential partners was dwindling by the hour.

“It’s a sense, we men have,” he explained. “We tend to be good at sniffing each other out. How else would we find each other?”

“You mean you don’t just go up and ask people about their sexual preferences?” Evelyn couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. Dorian grinned with her.

“Most of the time I just flirt and hope for the best,” he admitted.

“Maybe that’s why you haven’t gotten laid in so long,” she teased.

He sighed. “How many shots can my poor sex drive take?” he demanded of the heavens. “First Cullen, and now you?”

“The Commander?” Evelyn asked, sitting up quickly. “Did… did something happen?”

“Oh, heavens, no,” he replied, waving a hand. “As much as I would love the Commander to tickle my insides, I doubt he feels the same way.”

“Mmm.” Evelyn sat back, wondering why she was so curious. Was it because Cullen was their mutual top pick? Was he the choice prize, with whoever managed to nab him first declared the victor? No, this wasn’t about winning. He was certainly a prize though. He’d proven resistant to the charms of multiple women – and men – around Skyhold, and she’d never once seen him falter in his resistance. It was admirable – and admittedly, quite an enticing challenge.

“So then, your conversation with Hawke. Was it terribly awkward?”

“Actually, no,” she said slowly. She smirked at him, and he raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I was a little embarrassed that he had to politely reject my advances. But I did manage to turn around the situation.”

“Oh?”

“Apart from penises, Hawke likes pretty men,” Evelyn continued. She could feel the excitement in Dorian as it began to grow; his entire body shifted somewhat, making him sit straighter, smile broader, lean forward intently. “Do you happen to know any pretty men?”

“I believe I do.”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. There weren’t any people around, but one could never be too careful in Skyhold. Leliana’s spies, in particular, were always around. “I thought as much,” she grinned. “And Hawke seemed… quite interested in getting to know you. I suggested you talk about magical theory and… _whatnot_.” She winked at him.

“I very much like talking about whatnot,” Dorian agreed. “It’s my favorite topic. Other than myself, of course.”

“He’s staying in the west tower,” she continued. “He might have mentioned that he’ll be free tonight, should you happen to be in that part of the castle.”

“I very well might be.” She leaned back, greatly satisfied at the openly beaming look on her friend’s face. He reached out and took one of her hands then, squeezing it hard. “You, my dear, are a treasure.”

She laughed. “Oh, stop it,” she said, waving a hand. “Save your sweet-talk for later.”

“I owe you for this. My penis and I are forever in your debt.”

“Shouldn’t you wait until… after before you say that?” she snorted. “What if it’s bad?”

“Have you seen Devon Hawke?” Dorian demanded. “Nothing about that man is bad.”

“Oh, I agree. He’s delectable.” She sighed. “It’s a pity he doesn’t like v-”

“Naughty bits, Evelyn. Naughty bits.”

* * * * *

“Go on!”

Evelyn motioned for Dorian to continue along the path to the west tower. She had insisted on coming with him to the top of the keep's wall. For moral support, of course.

She gave him a thumbs-up gesture, and he saluted her, a smirk on his lips. She ducked behind the nearby wall so that Hawke wouldn’t see her. She heard Dorian knock on the door – three times, hard. A few moments later the door opened. The two of them were speaking – she could hear voices, but couldn’t make out the words. Risking a look, she peeked around the corner. Just in time to see Hawke drag Dorian into a searing kiss, their tanned bodies and muscled arms coming together hard.

She had to clamp a hand over her mouth to contain her excited squeal. She quickly ducked back behind the wall, and waited until she heard the door close before she released her mouth. She giggled in excitement, moving away from the wall back towards the nearby staircase. She couldn’t help the little happy dance that she did then, fist pumping into the air for her friend’s success.

Score one for Dorian!

“What are you doing?”

Evelyn nearly fell on her face. Startled, she looked up into the Commander’s eyes. He had an eyebrow raised at her actions, and it looked like he was fighting very hard to hide his amusement.

She flushed; that was the second time in a week that she’d embarrassed herself in front of this man! Maker’s balls! She had to have the worst luck in Thedas. She looked down at her hand then and snorted. No. She _definitely_ had the worst luck in Thedas. Probably the entire world.

“Commander,” she said awkwardly, trying to dismiss her earlier actions. “What brings you to this part of the keep?”

“I could ask the same of you,” he said slowly. “This isn’t a very well-maintained area.”

“Ah, yes, well I was… you see… that is to say…” She cleared her throat.

“Yes?”

“Just taking a walk!” she said, grasping for an appropriate answer. She stepped forward, trying to maneuver them away from the tower.

“A walk,” he said flatly. “At this time of evening?”

“I needed to clear my head,” she said quickly.

He studied her for a moment, but eventually nodded, accepting her excuse. “As you were, Inquisitor,” he said, taking a step closer to the door. “I’m sorry to have disrupted your… walk.” He made to enter the tower.

“No! Wait!”

Cullen stopped and turned to face her. Now his expression was slightly annoyed, and she cringed. Great. Now she’d gone and acted not only like an idiot, but like an _annoying_ idiot. He sighed. “I have to speak with Hawke, Inquisitor.”

“You can’t go in there!”

“Is Hawke somewhere else?”

“No… he’s in there…”

“Then I’m afraid I really must go in there,” he replied. He took another step closer to the door. She panicked. She had to do something! But what? What could she do to stop Cullen from barging in there and disrupting them?

“Would you like to play chess?”

Cullen turned around again. “Chess?” he repeated. He studied her appraisingly. “I didn’t know that you played.”

“Well, I’m not very good,” she admitted. “But I do play!”

Not really. She hadn’t played in years, and when she had, she’d always lost. She had no head for strategic games like that. Nor the patience. But Cullen didn’t know that.

“And you want to play now? Right now?”

“No time like the present, right?” She laughed nervously. His gaze was still suspicious, so she decided to up the ante. “You’re not afraid of losing, are you?”

“I – no, of course not,” he said quickly. He looked back over his shoulder at the door to Hawke’s room. For a moment, Evelyn was sure that he was going to turn her down. She waited with bated breath as he looked back at her and shook his head. “Alright. One game.”

She sighed in relief. Thank goodness he’d taken the bait. She led the way to the stairs and waited for him to catch up with her. They fell into stride as they walked to the gardens, her long legs nearly matching his own. She was surprised to find that he really wasn’t more than a few inches taller than her. He always seemed so much bigger than her.

“So what was I missing back there?”

Evelyn stopped, and looked up at Cullen. He looked down at her, lips quirked in wry amusement. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not entirely oblivious,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He jerked his head back towards the tower. “So what was it?”

She bit her lip, wondering if Dorian would mind if she told Cullen. She doubted it – the two of them were friends, and Dorian was very open. Too open, in some situations. He had been being secretive, yes, but would that secrecy extend to Cullen? His best friend in Skyhold other than Evelyn herself? 

Cullen was watching her intently, specifically the lip she was worrying. Her breath caught in her throat. Were his eyes always so dark, or was it a trick of the light? She released her lip, and his eyes snapped back to hers. “If you really must pry…” she said lightly.

“Oh, I must,” he replied. “Unless you want me to go back up there…?”

“Hawke and Dorian are having sex.” 

“Oh.” Cullen cleared his throat. “I see.” He chuckled then, motioning for them to continue walking. “Well, thank you for sparing my eyes that sight, Inquisitor.”

“You mean you don’t want to see Dorian in the throes of passion?”

Cullen snorted. “I could happily go a lifetime without seeing that,” he admitted. He sighed then. “I suspect I will _hear_ all about it tomorrow, though.”

She smiled. “I suspect you’re right.”

They had reached the gardens now. Evelyn turned to Cullen. “You know, we don’t actually have to play chess,” she said shyly. “I really just needed to get you away from the tower.”

“Afraid of losing, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked, smirking at her. Was he… was he actually using her own words against her? Was he _teasing_ her?

“Yes, actually,” she said frankly, too surprised to be witty. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t very good.”

“I’ll go easy on you then,” he said, moving towards the chessboard. “But not too easy – I don’t plan on losing to someone who professes no skill.”

She chuckled. “You really don’t have to,” she continued. Teasing aside, he was being entirely too kind. He’d taken her bait, knowing that it wasn’t true, and played along – was still playing along. Maker bless him.

“I _want_ to,” he said, turning to face her. He even smiled at her. “In fact, I insist.”

Her heart did a funny thing in her chest just then; it constricted, sending shockwaves of tingling energy through her body, but it wasn’t painful. She didn’t know how to describe it.

“Well, if you insist,” she said flatly, cursing herself for how disinterested her voice sounded. But it couldn’t be helped. She was surprised she’d even managed to be coherent. She walked over and sat down across from him. She noticed he’d given her the white pieces, allowing her to go first. How kind of him.

She began setting up her pieces, hoping that she remembered where each piece went.

“White goes first,” he said then.

“You don’t say?” she asked caustically, moving a pawn.

They played in silence for a while. He was clearly the better player, and they both knew it. Was he truly taking it easy on her? Every time she moved a piece, it seemed as though he took two of hers. She was soon left with only her king and queen, two knights, and a rook. She looked down at the board with dread; what was she going to do? What _could_ she do? He’d backed her into a corner, and no matter what way she went, she was going to lose.

Ah, tits, she’d known she was going to lose from the start. But to lose so spectacularly… really, he was going to take every single one of her pieces! She looked up timidly, hoping he might let her have an easy out.

He was grinning at her obvious discomfort. “Not a chance, Inquisitor,” he said, reading her like an open book. “You’re not getting out of this.”

She huffed and moved a piece randomly. He took it. She moved another piece, and he took that one too. “Can I yield?” she asked. “That’s a thing, right?” She moved her king, trying to get out of check.

“In duels,” Cullen agreed. He moved his queen then, taking her king rather spectacularly. The white piece fell off the board and into her lap. “But not in chess. Checkmate.”

She sighed. “You’re really good at this.”

“I’m good at many things, Inquisitor,” he replied, chuckling. “But most people don’t take the time to find that out.”

“Why?” she asked absently, resetting the pieces for whoever played next.

“Pardon me?”

She looked up at him; he was staring at her openly. “Why don’t people take the time to get to know you?” she clarified.

He snorted. “Do you have to ask?” he asked flatly. “My reputation has a tendency to precede me.”

“But that was then, and this is now,” Evelyn said, frowning. “You’ve changed. Cassandra sees it, Leliana sees it. I can’t really see it because I didn’t know you before, but if they saw it, it must be true.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Inquisitor. But I can’t blame people for being wary of me.”

Without thinking, she reached forward and grabbed his arm. “Please, call me Evelyn,” she said. “‘Inquisitor’ is so… dehumanizing.”

“It’s your title,” he said, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. He stared down at her hand on his arm, as if wondering how it had gotten there. It was so different from Hawke’s reaction earlier; this had been what she’d been trying to elicit. “You are the Inquisitor-”

“I’m a _person_ , and my name is Evelyn,” she said firmly.

He looked up at her. Something in her face must’ve changed his mind, for he nodded. “Alright… Evelyn.” She had to suppress a shudder at the way her name sounded on his tongue. His voice, low and husky at the best of times, and completely sensual now, made her heart do that strange thing again.

“Thank you.”

“But then you must call me Cullen.” She blinked in surprise at him, and he looked down. “It seems only proper,” he added as an afterthought.

She nodded. “You’re Cullen.”

“And you’re Evelyn.”

She snorted. “I’m… glad we got that figured out.”

“I’d say it’s taken us long enough, hasn’t it? Months of interaction and we’ve finally gotten to the point of using first names?”

“I guess we’re a bit slow on the uptake,” she admitted.

“So it would seem.”

They departed after that, her to her chambers and him to his office. It had been late when she’d left the Great Hall with Dorian; she had no idea what time it was now. She yawned, stretching her muscles as she walked up the stairs to her room. Maker, but she was tired. She needed to get her rest while she could, for she doubted she’d be getting as much while on the road to Crestwood.

The chess game had been worth the loss of an extra hour's sleep, though. She smiled, shucking off her clothes and pulling on a nightshirt before falling into bed. Yes, it had been quite a nice evening… better than expected even with the disappointing start.

“Cullen,” she whispered, testing his name on her lips. She quite liked his name. It suited him – simple but strong. “Cullen.” She snorted at how ridiculous she was acting and rolled over onto her stomach, sighing into the blankets. She was far too old to be acting like a teenager with her first crush.

But it wasn’t entirely ridiculous.

Had she been in the Commander’s tower, she would have heard him reciting her name as he dawdled over a stack of reports. She’d have seen how distracted he was by the revelation of her name on his lips. And eventually, she’d have seen him sigh and climb the ladder to his quarters, convinced he was getting no further work done that evening.

“Evelyn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to update before I go out of town after all! For real this time though, I might not update for over a week. But this chapter is kinda sorta really long, so I hope it makes up for that?
> 
> Thanks for reading! As always, I love any feedback you guys can give :)


	4. The Letter

“So?”

Evelyn dropped into the chair across from Dorian, absently knocking over a stack of books in the process. She couldn’t bring herself to care. It had been two full days since Dorian had disappeared into Hawke’s room, and this was the first free moment she’d had since. She was going to find out what had happened between the two men! She intended to learn _every_ naughty tidbit.

Dorian sighed, the book in his hands falling into his lap. “Your library is already dreadfully incomplete,” he said flatly. “You really can’t afford to be stomping on your literature.”

“Dreadfully incomplete?” Evelyn snorted. “Sounds like my love life.”

Dorian smirked. “You said it, not me.”

“Yours, on the other hand, seems to be a bit more fulfilled.” Evelyn leaned forward, excited. “How was it?”

Dorian looked around to see if anyone was watching them. But of course the area was devoid of other people. No one wanted to be around the dreaded Tevinter mage if they didn’t have to be. Satisfied that they were alone, he turned back to her, hazel eyes gleaming.

“It was _divine_.”

“Tell me everything!”

“I now understand why Varric speaks of Hawke in awed tones.”

“…I really don’t think they have that kind of relationship.”

“The man is a god among men!” Dorian sighed contentedly, ignoring her glib comment. “He’s almost as good in bed as I am!”

“So humble,” she laughed.

“Humility is for the dull,” Dorian scorned.

The mage then proceeded to tell the entire story of their encounter, not sparing a single sordid detail. He was incredibly thorough, from the sexual positions to the number of orgasms to Hawke’s numerous sexual idiosyncrasies. By the time Dorian was drawing to a close, Evelyn found herself painfully aroused. Thighs clenched tight, it was all she could do to listen with rapt attention to her friend’s reminiscing. She didn’t want him to stop, and yet, she found herself dreading returning to her every day duties when all she wanted to do was relieve the sweet, sweet ache within her.

Dorian guessed at her discomfort, giving her a sly smile. “My dear girl, your erection is showing.”

She flushed deeply, at least finding the presence to scowl at her friend. “I can’t help it!” she snapped. “That was… damn.”

“You haven’t had any success so far?”

Evelyn sighed, sitting back in her chair. “Not at all,” she admitted. “I tried talking to Ser Barris yesterday.” She shifted uncomfortably, remembering the unfortunate encounter. At the very least, her embarrassment was helping dismantle the situation in her pants. “He was very kind, until he realized that I was flirting with him.” She sighed.

“What happened?”

“It appears that although the Commander hasn’t taken any vows of chastity, our resident Knight-Commander _has_ ,” Evelyn snapped. Dorian winced in sympathy. “He was absolutely mortified that he had to explain it to me. In fact, I couldn’t tell who was more embarrassed – him or I.”

He reached over and patted her knee. “You’ll get someone,” he encouraged. He smirked at her then. “And speaking of the Commander… I heard someone was playing late night chess in the gardens the other night! Care to divulge?”

Evelyn snorted again. “He was going to walk in on you and Hawke,” she explained. “I had to come up with something to get him out of there.”

“And for that, I am eternally grateful,” Dorian said firmly. “My naughty bits and I sincerely thank your discretion.”

“How did you know about the chess game?”

“Oh, Cullen told me,” Dorian said, waving a hand. “He was quite amused at your aptitude for the game. You know, if you need pointers, I can always give you some. I’m very good at bending the rules.”

“You mean cheating,” she accused.

He wagged a finger at her. “It’s only cheating if you get caught!”

She shook her head in amusement. “No, thank you,” she said. “If I’m going to win, I’m going to do it on my own. Besides, I doubt I’ll be playing any more chess. It was a one-time thing.”

“… have you told Cullen that?”

She raised an eyebrow at Dorian. “What do you mean?”

“He seemed quite fond of the experience,” he replied. “He had this ridiculous little grin on his face the entire time he was talking about it. It was sickening, really.”

“Was he?”

For once, there wasn’t any sarcasm to her words. The question sprung from her lips unbidden, hanging in the air before she realized she’d spoken. She was genuinely curious. The Com – no, _Cullen_ , she reminded herself – had spoken of their game favorably? She was willing to believe it was more than just favorably, if the shit eating grin on Dorian’s face was any indication. But why? It was just a game... though she supposed it was probably a lot more fun for _him_ than it had been for her. She wasn’t particularly fond of losing.

“Oh, yes.” Dorian chuckled. “I’d say he wants to play you again – at the first opportunity.”

And just like that, the spell was broken as she returned to reality. “Well, he’ll have to wait,” she muttered. “We leave for Crestwood tomorrow.”

Dorian shot her a sympathetic look. “Duty calls,” he remarked.

“Don’t remind me,” she muttered darkly. She wasn’t looking forward to the trip. She’d had quite enough of the undead in the Fallow Mire; learning that more were lurking in northern Ferelden wasn’t exactly comforting. But they had to look into this issue with the Grey Wardens; they were too important to the safety of Thedas to let fade into oblivion. 

She made to rise. “I need to tell the others we’re leaving tomorrow,” she announced. “Let them have time to get ready.”

“And who is accompanying us this time?” Dorian asked. “Will we be graced with Sera’s wit, or perhaps Solas’ haughty condescension?”

“More like Varric’s charm and Bull’s proclivity for hitting things,” she replied, smiling. “And Hawke. He’s traveling with us to the outskirts; we’ll deal with the undead while he goes and finds his friend.”

Dorian perked up at that. “He is, is he?” he asked quietly. “Hmm… very interesting.”

“Try to control yourself around him,” she teased.

“I won’t make any promises I can’t keep,” Dorian said. He winked at her.

She snorted as she turned to make her way down to the Great Hall. It might be troublesome to have Hawke and Dorian along on the same trip. There was no telling what sort of canoodling they could get into. She found herself glad she was taking Varric and Bull with her.

At least they would have a sense of humor about the whole thing.

* * * * *

Cullen looked up from his lunch just in time to see Dorian slide into the space across from him. The mage looked out of breath, as if he’d been running. Was something the matter? He sat up a bit straighter, letting the report he’d been reading fall slack in his hand.

“Commander!”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” he asked. “Is something the matter?”

Dorian waved a hand, reaching over to grab Cullen’s water. He took several large drinks – without asking permission, of course – before returning it. “Not at all!” he replied, smoothing a stray lock of hair away from his face.

“You’re out of breath,” Cullen continued, frowning.

“Well, see, I ran to get here, and that does require more oxygen than simply walking,” the mage said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not as in shape as you soldier types.”

“I could fix that,” Cullen said, smirking. “I’d put you through your paces.”

“Would you now?” Dorian asked, raising an eyebrow. He smirked then, leaning forward just a bit. “I think I’d quite enjoy that.”

Cullen froze, sensing he’d unconsciously walked his way into flirtation. He hadn’t meant his words to come out that way, but of course Dorian would take them as such. He sighed. “Not those kind of paces, Dorian,” he muttered.

The mage laughed, and reached over to grab the hunk of bread that lay abandoned on Cullen’s plate. “Of course not,” he said easily, tearing off a piece and bringing it to his mouth. “But I do so love teasing you. It’s too easy!” He took another bite of the bread.

Scowling, Cullen reached out and snatched the bread back. “What is it, Dorian?” he demanded. “Surely you didn’t come here just to steal my food?”

“I did have an ulterior motive, yes,” the mage replied, dusting the crumbs from his hands. He looked over to Cullen then, his gaze much more serious. “As you know, the Inquisitor is leaving for Crestwood tomorrow to meet with Hawke’s Grey Warden friend. I am as well.”

“Whatever will I do without your companionship?”

Dorian waved a hand. “I’m confident in your ability to entertain yourself,” he said dismissively. “You do have a hand. Two of them, I believe.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, but motioned for Dorian to continue.

“I think that you should write to our dear Inquisitor while she’s away.”

That gave Cullen pause. Dorian’s face was decidedly neutral. There was no hint of amusement or glee or conniving to give away his intentions. What did that mean? Was it an honest suggestion? Had Evelyn mentioned something to Dorian about him?

“Why?” he managed after a few moments.

Dorian shrugged. “What can it hurt?” he asked.

“We aren’t exactly friends,” Cullen continued. It was true; though he and Evelyn had finally managed to come to a first-names basis, they weren’t close. They had a business relationship – he informed her of the Inquisition’s military matters, and she asked him for assistance on various projects around Thedas. She knew of his lyrium withdrawal, and he knew vaguely of her background. But that was it. They’d really not spoken of anything else. What in Thedas would he put in a letter?

Dorian sighed. “Hence why you should write her,” he said. “You can’t very well get to know someone without talking to them.”

“But what would I say?”

“Your _feelings_.” Dorian was beginning to sound exasperated. “Feelings, thoughts, emotions, concerns. You do have those, yes?”

“And you think Evelyn would like that?”

Dorian blinked at him. “What woman doesn’t like receiving letters from a handsome man?” he asked flatly.

Cullen sighed. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re trying to push the two of us together at every given opportunity, lately?” It was true. First had been the suggestion that he invite Evelyn to play chess more often; he doubted that that would be wise. She clearly hadn’t enjoyed the game. Next had come the insistence that he seek Evelyn out personally to deliver his reports instead of having messengers do it for him; it would “increase their camaraderie”, the mage had said. And now he wanted Cullen to write her letters?

“So what if I am?” Dorian asked. “Is it so wrong to want two of my friends to also become friends?”

“Somehow I doubt your motives are so innocent,” Cullen muttered.

Still… what could it hurt? It wasn’t as if he was going to write Evelyn _love_ letters. They really wouldn’t even be platonically intimate. His conversational writing wasn’t any more impassioned than his reports, he feared. His letters were likely to be more dutiful than playful. And he did understand the appeal of receiving messages; it was always nice to know someone had thought to write you. He snorted then, remembering his sister's colorful language in her most recent letter; she'd been painstakingly thorough in describing how nice it was to hear from him. How keeping in contact was such an easy and important task. 

Yes, it really couldn't hurt.

What harm could come of a simple letter?

* * * * *

Evelyn had no idea what was going on.

They hadn’t even made it to Crestwood yet and all five of them were riding in silence, brooding. The journey had started smoothly enough – Hawke and Dorian making flirtatious, suggestive banter, and Varric regaling the rest of them with tales of his journeys. Bull’s commentary to such stories was usually quite entertaining. She’d been quite enjoying herself.

But then on the third day things had soured.

Dorian had made a joke about _blood magic_ , of all the stupid things to joke about, and suddenly all the conversations had ended. The mood had palpably shifted. She didn’t even know what had happened. She’d tried to resume the talks, so that the traveling wasn’t quite so boring, but no one would be budged from their silence.

Hawke and Varric looked lost in the past, melancholy expressions on both their faces. Dorian had the grace to look sheepish, but he also wasn’t apologizing or trying to rectify what was clearly a joke made in poor taste. Bull had looked slightly angry at first; that she understood. The Qunari hated magic, and she could only imagine his thoughts on _forbidden_ magic. But that had been almost an hour ago.

Dorian had finally sidled up to Hawke and spoken to him quietly, too softly for anyone else to overhear. The Champion had sighed, but relented. The two mages were now talking quietly together, laughing every now and then. Varric was still silent, but Bull’s anger had changed into something different. If Evelyn hadn’t known him better, she would have thought it jealousy. He kept looking over at Hawke, a glint of something… dangerous in his eye.

It was still a strange mood when they arrived at the Inquisition forward camp, where Hawke bid them farewell and set off into the gloomy dusk to find his friend. Meanwhile, the rest of them began to set up their tents for the night. Evelyn was bunking with Varric, and the both of them were quite eager to get out of the rain as quickly as possible. They ate a cold dinner in the tent, the silence between them more comfortable now than it had been in the afternoon.

Soon enough, they were pulling off their wet clothing and getting into their bedrolls, preparing for the trials tomorrow would bring. All the while, she could hear hushed, yet slightly heated, voices from the tent next door. She hoped she hadn’t made a mistake in choosing not to bunk with Dorian.

She really didn’t want Bull to strangle him in his sleep.

* * * * *

“You fucked him.”

Dorian looked over at Iron Bull, surprised at the Qunari’s words. It wasn’t a question – it was a statement of fact. The great lummox wasn’t even looking at him! He was lying down on his bedroll, sprawled out on his side as he absently looked over a map of the area. It was if he’d made a comment about the _weather_.

“You’re not very subtle,” Dorian snapped. “Did you know that?”

“Wasn’t trying to be,” Bull replied. He drew the map closer, leaning down to look at a particular area of interest.

“I’m still trying to get over the part where you’re interested in my sexual exploits,” Dorian replied, plopping down on his bedroll and beginning to unlace his boots. He scrunched his nose in distaste at the smell of the wet leather; how he longed for the drier climate of Minrathous! He set them as far away from his bedroll as he could, hoping against hope that they would be dry in the morning.

“Interested?” For the first time since he’d clambered into the tent, Bull looked over at him. “What made you think I was interested?”

“You said… oh, never mind,” Dorian muttered, shaking his head. He threw off his cloak next, and then began working on the buckles of his quite sodden robes.

“Just an observation I made,” Bull said, chuckling to himself.

“An observation?” Dorian asked. “And what, pray tell, gave me away?”

“I… couldn’t explain it without using Qunlat,” Bull said. He smirked across the tent at Dorian. “Roughly translated, it’s something like… your ass is happier.”

“… well that’s blatantly explicit, don’t you think?”

“It doesn’t mean _that_ ,” Bull clarified, though he didn’t hide his amusement. “It’s like this. You sit straighter, you stand up a little taller. Your posture is better because you’re happier. And you’ve had this shit-eating grin on your face for days now. Your ass is happier.”

“What kind of nonsense is that?”

“Qunlat doesn’t translate well,” Bull grunted, returning his eyes to the map.

“But it doesn’t make any sense!”

“Never said it did,” Bull replied. “Besides, aren’t there phrases down here that are just as strange? ‘Cat got your tongue’? ‘There’s a frog in my throat’? It’s just something people say.”

“When they’ve recently gotten their rocks off?”

“When they’ve recently visited the tamassrans,” Bull clarified.

“How very… sterile.”

“It’s not a bad system,” Bull said. “You go when you need to, get yourself all fixed up. Sex is a need just like food, or water." He chuckled again. "It’s easier than running around Skyhold trying to find a fuck buddy, isn’t it?” His voice had gotten very pointed.

Dorian looked over at him suspiciously. Bull was staring at him intently. “What does that mean?”

“Cut the crap. You and the boss running all over Skyhold, whispering in dark corners? Pulling papers out of your pockets? And then you fuck Hawke, and the boss is playing chess with Cullen?” Bull shook his head. “It’s obvious.”

“You know nothing,” Dorian snapped. He was more than a little surprised at how quickly Bull had figured things out. He was far too observant for his own good. How much training did it take to be able to do that? Dorian wasn’t an unobservant person – he was quite perceptive, really – and he didn’t notice _half_ the things Bull did. It was deeply unsettling.

“So I’m wrong?”

“…technically, Hawke fucked me.”

“Details,” Bull snorted. “So what is it then, some kind of contest? Fucking the men of Skyhold to see who can get the most points?”

“This isn’t a game,” Dorian snapped. “There are no points.”

“So there is a ranking.” Bull cocked his head then. “Am I on the list?”

“Yes,” Dorian said shortly. He finished pulling off his robes and laid them to the side before crawling underneath the blankets. He was hoping to convey that he wasn’t enjoying the conversation. But of course Bull wasn’t taking his hints. The Qunari scooted a little closer, the map forgotten beneath his hulking frame.

“Was I at the top?” he continued. “I should be at the top.”

“You were… well, the Inquisitor and I have different opinions on male attractiveness.”

Bull chuckled. “I don’t care about boss,” he said casually. “She’s got a different target in mind. She's already forgetten me.” His smile faded then as his voice became serious again. “I’m more interested in knowing where _you_ ranked me.”

“I…” Dorian didn’t know what to say. Did he tell the other the truth? He wasn’t sure he could lie to Bull; the Qunari was entirely too good at observing nonverbal communication for that.

Bull had crept even closer to him now. Dorian was a bit unnerved by his proximity. The Qunari was very large, even by their standards. Up close, it was even more noticeable. He was so solid, and so very, very big; he could fit one of his hands around Dorian’s neck with ease. Fasta vass, he could probably pop his head off like a _chicken_ if he wanted. It was a slightly disconcerting thought, even though he didn’t give it much credence.

“Dorian?”

“You were third,” Dorian blurted out. “After the Commander and Hawke.”

Bull was practically leaning over him now, staring directly into his face. His single brown eye was guarded, unreadable; Dorian couldn’t tell what the other was thinking.

“Huh. Interesting.”

And with that, Bull withdrew to his side of the tent, lying down with his hands behind his head. Dorian stared at him for several moments, waiting for another comment. But once again, it never came. It looked for all the world as if Bull had fallen asleep.

Dorian sighed and magically extinguished the lamp with a wave of his hand. Bull grunted in disapproval – not asleep then. Both of them rolled on their sides, facing away from each other and trying not to think about the prior conversation. The next day would be long, wet, and tiresome, and they both needed their strength. They couldn’t afford to stay awake thinking of the man who lay across from them.

But it didn’t work.

* * * * *

Evelyn trudged back into camp, weary to the bone.

They had spent the entirety of the day helping the villagers of Crestwood. They’d beaten back the undead, and then gone to the mayor for advice on getting to the lake. Of course, that had meant finding the dam controls and draining the lake, as the rift was actually coming from within some local caves. She hated caves; they were terribly dank and dark, two of her least favorite things. Only Dorian had looked more uncomfortable than her. He’d been muttering the entire time about how his robes were ruined. Varric had made a caustic joke about buying the mage some new ones back at Skyhold, but Dorian had just sworn at him rather rudely in response. It was about how she'd felt about the whole situation. 

Eventually, they’d come to a set of dwarven ruins, the rift churning within. It had been a rough fight, the rift spewing several rounds of demons on them before she was able to close it. Exhausted, it had taken her every ounce of strength to make it back to the surface. She was rewarded with the sight of the sun slipping towards the horizon, the gloomy weather vanquished along with the rift.

She sat down at the fire thankfully, stretching her boots toward the fire. Its warmth was a welcome comfort after a day in the rain. She couldn’t wait to get out of these wet leathers, but she needed food first. Her stomach was grumbling in protest of their light lunch.

Scout Harding came up to her then, a sealed envelope in her hand. Evelyn sat up, sighing; it must be a missive from Leliana. What was it this time? Had an obscure Orlesian noble threatened her life again? Or was it a Chantry Mother, set on pronouncing her a blaspheming heretic to the populace? She hoped they wouldn’t have to discuss “taking care of” whoever the malcontent was. She hated those conversations.

“Inquisitor,” Harding said, nodding her head respectfully.

“Scout Harding,” Evelyn replied, smiling up at the dwarf. She motioned to the letter. “What have you got for me today?”

“A letter from Skyhold,” Harding replied, handing her the letter. “Arrived just a few hours ago.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank _you_.” Harding smiled at her. “For getting rid of the rain, I mean. It’s been pretty terrible here. Glad you cleared that up.”

“Anytime,” Evelyn said warmly. Harding backed away then, heading back to the other Inquisition scouts.

Evelyn looked down at the letter in her hand. She was quite surprised to see that it wasn’t Leliana’s small, neat cursive. Nor was it Josephine’s elegant, looping script. Instead, the letters were small and scrunched, angled even. She frowned; if she wasn’t mistaken, that was Cullen’s handwriting. But why had he written her?

She turned the letter over and tore the seal, bringing out the pages within. She moved to the bottom of the last page, and sure enough, Cullen’s signature was scrawled across the page. She stared at it for a moment before returning to the first page. She found herself strangely nervous to see what he’d had to say.

 _Inqui-Evelyn_ , it read.

_I apologize for the above mistake. I assure you, I will get accustomed to using your given name in time. It’s getting easier. Perhaps you’re having similar difficulties?_

_By now, you are no doubt in Crestwood. I hope that things are going well. The reports we received were unsettling. Have you made contact with the Grey Warden? I am not sure what is going on within their ranks, but I strongly suggest we offer what aid we may. The Grey Wardens are a legendary force, and having them as allies could potentially be a very good thing. Please keep me informed._

_It is very quiet here with Dorian and Varric both gone. I am actually managing to get some work done. Of course, Sera has taken to stopping by my office at odd hours of the day and making strange comments. Yesterday she even offered me cake. She pushed it into my hands before I could politely refuse. It sat on my desk far longer than necessary. I couldn’t determine if she’d done something to it._

_Do you know if she dislikes me? I hope she isn’t up to something._

_Speaking of which, I believe Dorian has a scheme up his sleeve. The last week or so, he has been acting very odd around me. I assume you are safe from his schemes, given your friendship, but I must urge caution regardless. He can be tricky._

_I have no doubt taken enough of your time now._

_Maker bless you._

_Cullen_

_P.S. Perhaps, when you return, you will play me again in chess? It’s nice to play someone who doesn’t cheat (I’m sure you know who I refer to)._

_P.P.S. I still won’t take it easy on you._

_P.P.P.S. Dorian. I was referring to Dorian._

Evelyn couldn’t help the silly grin on her face. The letter was just… it was so endearing. It was so very Cullen, with its short, direct sentences and no-nonsense content. And between Sera, the cake, and the multiple postscripts, it was just too much. She laughed softly, returning the letter to the envelope. She’d been expecting a purely professional letter, something where he asked her opinion on a new project or asked for more information on an area. This was entirely different. And not unpleasant, she thought. She didn’t get very many personal letters. Receiving one now was suffusing her with warmth. Her mood was already lighter than it had been all day.

She stuffed the letter into a pocket hastily as Dorian sidled up to the fire, sitting down on the log next to her.

“Bugger me,” he muttered. “I’m ready to return to Skyhold.”

“Me too,” Evelyn replied. She thought of the letter, and had to suppress the smile her lips wanted to form.

Dorian looked over at her sharply. “Oh?” he asked. “Are you also hoping to return to dry land?”

“No. I grew up by the sea, you know."

"I forgot. My sympathies."

She snorted. "I  _like_ the sea, Dorian.  _Rain_ is something else entirely."

"Is it?" He looked around, nose scrunched up. "I'll have to take your word for it." He unlaced his boots then, turning them over to release the inch or so of water that had collected in the bottom. "My poor feet," he said mournfully, letting the boots fall to the ground by the fire. He sighed. "I hate Ferelden."

"I would  _never_ have guessed."

"Don't you?"

"It's... different. But not that terrible. Skyhold is nice."

"It's also not really in Ferelden," Dorian pointed out. "Which brings us back to my original question. Why are you so eager to return?"

"Nothing in particular," she said lightly.

Dorian didn't miss anything. He grinned at her. "What is it?" he asked excitedly. 

"Nothing," she insisted.

"Your face says otherwise," he admonished. "Come." He elbowed her gently in the side. "Tell me!"

She paused for just a moment before giving in. She leaned in a little, her voice excited as she spoke. 

"I have a chess game to play." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's raining in San Diego. Would you believe that? California is in a terrible drought, and the moment I arrive, it rains. I'm practically a water goddess.
> 
> But! That means I had some time to write this chapter out! Just a note: this is before they find out the Grey Wardens are using blood magic. I feel like Cullen would appreciate Grey Warden help a lot more before they discovered Erimond's work than he would after, haha. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! You guys have been incredibly kind so far :) Feedback is loved! :)


	5. The Confusion

“I’m not saying Hawke isn’t a catch. Don’t get me wrong.”

Evelyn looked up from her stew, peering across the fire at Varric. He had a pensive look on his face, the spoon in his hand pointing accusatorily at Dorian, who was perched serenely on the log next to her. The dwarf’s face was torn, his expression halfway between amusement and honest curiosity.

Dorian delicately took a sip of his stew before he replied. “But you disapprove?”

“On the contrary, Sparkler, Hawke’s a big boy,” Varric snorted. “He can do what he wants. _Who_ he wants.” Bull snorted then; the rest of them looked over to him to catch his quip, but the Qunari merely continued eating. Evelyn frowned; that was unlike Bull. But then Varric was talking again, and she found herself paying close attention. “But I have to ask… why?”

Dorian paused, a cup of water halfway to his mouth. “ _Why_?” he repeated scornfully. “I know you’re more of the feminine persuasion, Varric, but that seems a silly question.”

The dwarf chuckled. “Humor me,” he continued, leaning forward. “Hawke’s attractive. No shit. But what can he offer you?” He jabbed the spoon across the fire for emphasis.

“A great many things,” Dorian clarified. “Including, but not limited to, orgasms, fellatio, and smashing pillow talk.”

Evelyn snorted into her bowl, eyes watering as she choked on the bit in her mouth. Across the fire, Varric was doing the same, beating his chest with a hand. Bull was suspiciously silent.

Dorian, on the other hand, was smirking. “Was it something I said?” he asked.

“I’m always amazed at how easily you say those kinds of things,” Evelyn remarked. She took a drink of her water to ease the burning in her throat. “You really don’t have any sort of filter, do you?”

“Now, why would I want to filter my precious thoughts?” Dorian demanded. “Then I couldn’t share my wisdom with all of you!” He swung his arm out in a sweeping motion, indicating all of their camp.

“Seems to get you in trouble more often than not,” Bull said casually. He set his bowl down, finished, before crossing his arms over his chest. His face was decidedly neutral as he turned to look at Dorian.

“You can blame my father for that,” the mage replied easily, taking another bite. “He _encouraged_ me to get in trouble by making the proper actions look decidedly dull.”

“Yes, yes, you’d make a Chantry mother blush with that mouth,” Varric said, waving a hand. “But back to my point – Hawke’s kind of a nomad. He doesn’t even go to Kirkwall very often, and he’s _from_ there. Or at least, his family's there. What exactly are you trying to gain from him?”

“More than I’d ever offer a Chantry mother,” Dorian mused. He sighed then, setting his bowl down. “Varric, I understand what this is really all about.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“You’re protecting your friend’s best interests,” Dorian replied. He smiled. “Please believe me when I say that I have no untoward plans regarding Hawke. I’m not looking for any kind of commitment. Heavens, no!” He laughed, as if the very thought were hilarious.

“It was a one-time thing,” he continued. “We’re all people here. We have needs! Why not satisfy those needs with a handsome stranger that you’ll likely never see again?”

Varric chuckled. “And here I had you pegged as a romantic,” he snorted.

“Oh, I’m devastatingly romantic,” Dorian affirmed. “When I choose to be, of course.”

“And when is that?”

Evelyn looked over at Bull sharply; she expected that sort of retort from Varric, or perhaps even herself. But from Bull? She was beginning to get the feeling that something was going on between him and Dorian. She peered at the mage through her eyelashes; he looked as confused as she was by the question. He opened his mouth to speak, but Bull didn’t give him the chance. The Qunari rose, dusting off his hands as he walked over to his tent. He entered through the flap without another word.

Dorian muttered something in Tevene before leaving the warmth of the fire as well, moving down along the camp to sit on a lonely rock that overlooked Old Crestwood.

“Are we missing something here?” Evelyn looked back at Varric. The dwarf looked highly suspicious. “It’s not just me, is it?” he asked.

“No, I feel it too,” she replied quietly.

Varric sighed. “It’s always something, isn’t it?”

“Seems to be our luck,” she admitted wryly, shooting her friend a smirk across the fire.

Varric drew her attention to other subjects then. Namely, himself. He talked her ear off with tales of his time in Kirkwall. She didn’t mind though. There was a very good reason that Varric’s books were so successful. Despite his shameless embellishments and extravagant hyperbole, the dwarf really was a fantastic storyteller. It felt like hours before she was ready to stop listening and get some sleep.

She looked up before they entered their shared tent, looking to see if Dorian had come back to camp while she wasn’t watching. But the mage was still sitting out on a rock, staring out at the lake. She hesitated; should she go to him, ask him what was wrong? His posture, stiff and unyielding, told her no.

Shaking her head, she stumbled into the tent and prepared for bed. They were returning to Skyhold tomorrow, and she was quite eager to get back. And not just because of a certain blonde commanding officer. She’d had quite enough of this weather; perhaps it was time to finally chart out the Hissing Wastes. It didn’t get any drier than that.

First, however, she intended to find out what was going on with Dorian.

* * * * *

“Commander!”

Cullen looked up from the report he was writing. A messenger was standing before his desk, another stack of papers in his arms. Sighing, Cullen reached out to take them. “Any details on these?” he asked wearily.

“Reports from the Inquisitor’s team in Crestwood, ser!”

Cullen frowned down at the stack. It was very large; for an expedition that had taken less than a week, this was certainly an abundance of information to sift through. Still, it was important that he read through everything.

“Thank you,” he said to the messenger, indicating the man’s dismissal.

He pulled the stack of papers towards him. He liked to sort things into piles as soon as he received them, basing each stack on their priority level. He would work on high priority items first, and if he got finished with those, he would move on to less pressing matters. It was a good system, and it had always served him well in the past. A good leader was also an organized leader. The two were often one in the same.

The first few reports were from Scout Harding, detailing the area. He didn’t see any exclamation points or underlined items, so he set those into the pile he’d designated as “Read Later”. The next one was a more descriptive account of the taking of Caer Bronach. Charter, one of Leliana’s elite operatives, had been placed in charge of the castle, and was requesting additional supplies and troops to keep the castle operational. Those documents he placed into the “High Priority” category.

The next item took him by surprise. It was a simple sealed envelope, its only adornment his name written in neat, tiny script. That was the Inqui- no, _Evelyn’s_ writing. Had she thought to write him back? The thought of her thinking to send a return message made him inexplicably happy. He tore open the letter, pulling out the pages within.

_Cullen (writing that was easier than I thought!),_

_Thank you for your kind letter. It lightened my mood considerably, though I had to pry it away from Dorian’s grubby fingers before he could read the contents. He stole it from me. He is also now protesting my use of the word “grubby”. Perhaps you can remind me what it is we see in him?_

_We are leaving Crestwood on the morrow. I suspect you will get this before we arrive. Things here were… not what I expected. I’ll have to brief you, Josephine, and Leliana about it in person. I don’t trust it to a messenger, and have excluded certain details from my reports. Dorian has now pointed out that that should have been “Josephine, Leliana, and you”. In return, I told him that I doubted you cared about proper grammar so long as you could read my letter. There may have been a rude gesture involved. He didn’t appreciate that._

_I share your concern about our friend (whom I have pushed towards the fire in an attempt to get some privacy). Something is awry in our party. I plan on getting to the bottom of it, however._

_In regards to Sera – she thinks you have a stick up your arse (her words, not mine, I assure you). But I don’t think she dislikes you. She’d probably like you more if you marched your soldiers through Verchiel, a small town in Orlais. She mentioned something about it earlier. I will look into it for you when I return._

_Chess. I don’t know about another game. You’d have to make it… worth my while. Perhaps you can come up with something suitably pleasing?_

_Until I return._

_Evelyn_

_P.S. …I don’t really have anything else to add. But considering your love of postscripts, I thought I’d add one for posterity._

Cullen sat back in his chair, a faint smile on his lips.

Evelyn was far more conversational in her letter than he had been in his. But of course this was more natural to her. She’d probably been taught how to write letters as a part of her etiquette training.

He looked down at the pages in his hand, quickly reading the letter a second time. The words stuck in his mind like glue; when he closed his eyes, he could see her delicate handwriting scored across his eyelids. Her kind, teasing, and slightly flirtatious words.

Was it flirtation? He supposed that was the right word for it. Evelyn was naturally witty, and she had taken a leaf out of Varric’s book of charms, but never before had her words had this effect on him. He felt… dare he say, giddy? He could see her face when he read certain sentences, imagining exactly how her mouth would quirk if she’d said it aloud, exactly how she’d arch an eyebrow. All the seemingly innocuous gestures he’d only barely noticed before now seemed coy, sensual.

Was it intentional? She’d never expressed any sort of romantic interest in him before. Why would she start now? And then there had been Dorian, attempting to push them together at every given opportunity. He certainly hoped that Evelyn wasn’t doing this at Dorian’s prompting, but out of her own free will.

He would never want a relationship where both partners weren’t perfectly willing participants. That would be much worse than having no relationship at all.

He opened a desk drawer then, putting Evelyn’s letter inside. He couldn’t have it sitting on his desk; he’d never get any work done. Or worse, someone would notice it and read it without his permission.

Cullen finished sorting the new reports into their respective piles before returning to the one he’d originally been writing. It was almost finished; it required merely one more paragraph of instruction, and it would be complete. He wrote hastily, trying to push Evelyn’s letter to the back of his mind until he could reread it again later.

It was difficult – very difficult. Who wanted to approve the Large Angry Animal Defense Program (as Rylen had so wittingly put it) of the men stationed in the Western Approach when there was a charming letter from a beautiful woman in his desk? One she’d carefully handwritten to him?

He hoped that she made it back to Skyhold soon. He really wanted to see her again.

* * * * *

“Hold up, you.”

Dorian turned to look at Evelyn, one of his eyebrows raised in question. “Yes?” he asked.

She dismounted her horse in one fluid motion, handing the reins off to a nearby stable hand. She motioned for Dorian to do the same. With a sigh, he clambered off his horse, coming to stand by her. She motioned for them to move away from the rest of their party, to a small alcove just inside Skyhold’s walls. Varric shot them a curious look, but continued on his way to the Great Hall without a word.

She had no idea where Bull had gone. She presumed it was to the tavern, to check in on the Chargers. As long as he wasn’t here – she wanted Dorian’s mind at ease. For whatever reason, the two of them had been on edge the entire journey back from Crestwood.

Crossing her arms over her breasts, Evelyn did her best to give the mage a stern look. “Alright. Out with it.”

“I hardly think this is the time and place for me to be dropping my trousers, Evelyn-”

“What is going on between you and Bull?” she asked, cutting him off before he could talk his way out of conversation. As it was, the blunt question had him squirming uncomfortably.

“I don’t know what-”

Evelyn snorted. “You know damn good and well what I mean,” she said. She cocked her head then. “Is everything… alright? You’ve been in a bad state of mind since Crestwood.”

Dorian cringed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only completely,” she replied, though she softened the words with a smile. The mage sighed. “Come on! Did you think you could hide your bad mood from me? _Me_ , of all people?” She clucked at him. “You should know better than that.”

“Probably,” he agreed.

“So?” she prompted. “What is it?”

He sighed again. “It’s… difficult to explain,” he said quietly. “It’s Bull. For starters, he knows about the lists. And our mission.”

It wasn’t really surprising. Evelyn was surprised to find how little the news bothered her. So what if the Iron Bull knew they were trying to get laid? He wasn’t the type to tell secrets, to gossip. Nor was he the type to judge them for it. “So he’s curious?” she asked.

“Not… really.”

“Then why does it matter?” she asked, frowning.

“He’s been… acting strangely towards me since he revealed that he knew,” Dorian replied slowly. “If I didn’t know him to be what he is, I’d say he was flirting with me. And jealous of Hawke.”

“‘What he is’?” Evelyn repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

“At the risk of sounding like a prejudiced imp, he’s a Ben-Hassrath, my dear. On top of that, he’s a Qunari.” He paused then, considering. “Well, I suppose one presupposes the other. But anyways, Qunari _don’t_ flirt. They don’t have any sort of courtship rituals. They go to their tamassrans and get fucked into oblivion when they need ‘tune-ups’, as they so charmingly put it. There’s no emotion in it!” He shook his head, twisting the toe of his boot into the ground in frustration.

“I’m at a dilemma,” he continued. His toe snapped a twig then, and he looked back up at her. “I think Bull is flirting with me. But that goes against everything he would have been taught, everything the Qun teaches. So is he? Is he not? Fasta vass, how does one handle a flirting Qunari?”

Evelyn considered the best way to respond, sifting through her words carefully. “Well, Bull’s not really like other Qunari,” she pointed out slowly. “He’s lived in the south for years now. Honestly? I don’t think he’s all that ‘Qunari’ anymore. Not really.”

“But is that all an act?” Dorian insisted. He took a step closer to her. “What if it’s all a ruse? Maybe he just acts like a great oaf to trick us!”

“Trick us into doing what?” she demanded. “He already told us he’s a spy!”

“I don’t know,” the mage sighed. “But he is acting strange towards me.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No!” he replied sharply. She was taken aback at the vehemence in his voice, and he shot her an apologetic glance. “Sorry. But no, it’s nothing to get concerned about.”

“Maybe you should just avoid him,” she suggested then, deciding to try a different route. “Skyhold’s a big place. You two don’t have to run into each other if you don’t want.”

“You have me there,” Dorian allowed. She saw a change come over his eyes then – the glimmer of uncertainty she’d seen earlier was gone, concealed behind a carefully constructed veneer of cynicism and dramatics. Right on cue, he sighed, one hand falling dramatically to his chest. “Alas, I will have to stay clear of the tavern. Wherever will I get my wine?”

Evelyn snorted, glad to see that her friend’s sense of humor was returning. “As if you get your wine there anyways,” she said. “We all know you raid the cellars directly.”

“Me?” Dorian scoffed. “You must be thinking of another handsome mage. I would _never_ do such a thing.”

“Right.”

“Besides.” He shot her a suggestive leer then. “We still have target practice to attend to.”

“Picked another victim, have you?” she asked, smiling.

“Oh, yes,” he replied. “I’ve decided to make this a little contest. I want to see how many handsome men I can lure into my bed before my secret’s out.”

“No more Hawke?”

Dorian waved a hand. “What Hawke and I had was lovely, but we are both aware of the limitations of our situations,” he said flatly. “Neither of us was looking for any sort of commitment. Just pure, carnal bliss.”

She snorted, but conceded the point. “Then who’s next?” she asked.

He looked down at his hands then, inspecting his fingernails. “I’ve heard that Jim the messenger used to have an Orlesian lover, did you know that?” he asked. “A very highborn lady, I hear.”

“I… didn’t know,” she replied, frowning. She’d thought Jim was a commoner? An Orlesian noblewoman had actually had relations with Jim? With a _peasant?_ Evelyn was more impressed than she let on.

“Rumor says that she even wanted to marry him!” Dorian chuckled to himself. “She even gave him a diamond ring.” He winked at her. 

Evelyn’s frown deepened. “Isn’t it normally the other way around?” she asked. “With the man giving the woman a diamond ring?” She was fairly certain that was how things had worked; her mother had worked most diligently to drill the proper social protocols into her. It wasn’t _her_ fault they hadn’t taken.

Dorian’s gaze was wicked as he smiled down at her. “Oh, my dear,” he said lightly, “it’s not _that_ kind of ring.”

* * * * *

Evelyn looked down at the clothes she’d picked to wear. She’d forgone her normal tan attire for something a bit more pleasing for her complexion. She’d paired a deep green blouse with black leggings, tucked into soft kid leather boots. She hoped it didn’t look too formal; she knew the color accented her eyes, but it was also far better made than the standard Inquisition gear.

Would Cullen take it the wrong way?

She pushed her hair behind her ears nervously. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake. Had she interpreted the signals correctly? He did want to see her, right? He’d invited her to play chess, after all.

But it was very late. She’d been sucked into Inquisition business as soon as she’d finished bathing, with Josephine nagging about the uniforms for the upcoming ball at Halamshiral to Leliana asking her for more information on her spy murdered in Crestwood. She’d hardly had a chance to breathe.

Perhaps she should wait until tomorrow. Maybe visiting in the daytime would be more appropriate. Soldiers might get the wrong idea if they saw her visiting Cullen in the middle of the night.

She turned to leave, embarrassed at having come all the way out here for nothing. How had she talked herself into thinking this was a good idea? Maker, but she could be stupid sometimes.

She hadn’t gone more than five steps when the door opened behind her. She froze, tensing in the moonlight.

“Evelyn?”

She turned; Cullen was standing at the door, a confused expression on his face. He’d taken his armor off, wearing a simple shirt and trousers. It was amazing how different he looked – more like a man and less like the imposing general he was. She couldn’t decide which look was more appealing to her.

The thought made her flush, and Cullen took a step outside his office. “Are you alright?” he asked. “I thought I heard something outside…”

She cleared her throat before laughing nervously. “Ah, yes, that would’ve been me,” she admitted.

He paused, taking in her appearance and open fidgeting. “Would you like to come in?” he asked slowly, indicating the room beyond the door.

“Yes!” she said quickly. Perhaps a tad too quickly. Still, Cullen’s face broke out into a smile and he stepped out of the way, allowing her inside. She followed him, closing the door behind her as he sat down at his desk. He’d lit several candles around the room for light; it was a stark contrast to the brightness of the moon outside.

She moved to sit into the chair across from him, perching on the edge of the seat. “Did you get my letter?” she asked, eager to fill the silence.

“I did,” he replied, motioning to a piece of paper on his desk. She looked down, surprised to see her letter there; it was crumpled slightly, as if it had been read multiple times. She was surprised he’d kept it, and in such plain sight. “You are much more of a conversationalist than I, I’m afraid.” He sent her a sheepish look.

“There was nothing wrong with your letter,” she said hastily. “I quite enjoyed it! Well, until Dorian started chasing me around the fire to try and steal it. That wasn’t so pleasant.”

He chuckled then; it was a low, rich sound. She’d never heard him laugh before; he’d snorted in derision at the war table, and she’d heard him force a laugh at Dorian’s bad jokes. But his true laugh… her stomach fluttered in response.

“I can only imagine,” he admitted. He paused before asking another question. “Do you mind? Me writing you, that is.”

“Not at all,” she replied. She was proud that her voice had stabilized, her nerves calming in Cullen’s presence. She was finding him very easy to talk to; she had thought their conversations might be awkward, or stilted, but was delighted to be wrong. What had she been so worried about, after all? This was just Cullen; they’d known each other for months now, and worked together for nearly as many.

“Good,” he said, nodding. “If I may, I would like to continue.”

“You don’t need my permission,” she teased, smiling.

“Are you sure?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s not breaking some formal rule on letter-writing you nobles have?”

Evelyn snorted. “I have probably broken every rule in the book,” she admitted. “There’s nothing noble about me save my name, I assure you.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he disagreed. “You have a noble cause, and a noble heart. I’d say you are very noble.” He flushed then, as if realizing what he’d just said. But he didn’t apologize, or take back the words.

“Thank you,” she breathed, unable to come up with a better reply.

For one long moment, neither of them said anything more. Cullen wasn’t looking her in the eyes; instead, he appeared very interested in some infinitesimal speck on his desk. She took the opportunity to study him. He looked better than when she’d seen him last. The circles under his eyes were gone and his cheeks weren’t quite as hollow. There was a healthy glow to his skin again, and his eyes were much more animated.

He was so very, very handsome.

It struck her as odd. Why didn’t Cullen have a lover, or a wife? He was certainly old enough to have married by now. But then… how old was he? She’d never asked. She frowned; there was a lot she didn’t know about Cullen, actually. She really only knew that he had grown up in Ferelden, become a Templar, and had been transferred to Kirkwall after the Blight. Cassandra had recruited him to the Inquisition, where he’d given up taking lyrium in addition to accepting the mantle of Commander.

But what was she missing?

“It’s not polite to stare, you know.”

Cullen’s amused voice broke her reverie. She blinked, processing his words, and then looked away, flushing. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“It… doesn’t bother me.”

She looked up then to see Cullen staring back at her rather seriously. She smiled at him tentatively, and one of the corners of his mouth curled up into a smirk.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked quietly.

“Of course.”

“How old are you?”

Cullen looked surprised at the question. “Thirty,” he replied. 

“A bit older than me then,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“Just a bit?” he asked, the smirk growing. “You don't find me an old man?”

She laughed. “I’m twenty-three,” she allowed. “Seven years’ difference, but not enough to make you a curmudgeon just yet.”

“Thank the Maker,” he chuckled. Her stomach did that strange flopping thing again. “Is there a particular reason you ask?”

She shook her head. “It’s just…” She sighed. “I know so much about Leliana and Josephine. I’ve heard practically every story Varric has to tell, and I could probably recite Cassandra’s family lineage as well as she could. But… I know next to nothing about you.”

“You never asked.”

“I know,” she replied, wincing at how harsh the words sounded despite Cullen’s neutral tone. “That was perhaps unworthy of me.”

“I never saw it as such,” he admitted, shifting around in his chair. “As I told you before, I’m not an easy person to get to know. Nor am I outgoing, like Josephine and Varric.” He shrugged. “I never thought any less of you for it.”

“Maybe you should have,” she mused. “I should know everyone around me, right? At least to some degree? But I never even tried to get to know you! Never asked you any questions, never tried to strike up a conversation. Andraste’s tits, you’re one of my closest advisors!” She huffed then, frustrated with herself for not seeing this before. She looked up at Cullen, who seemed taken back by her curse. “I should know more about you!”

“Is that why you came to see me?”

Her anger abated in the face of his question. No. Not really. That wasn’t what she’d been after. She honestly didn’t really know what she’d sought in coming here, other than that Cullen had suggested they play chess again. Though why he would want to play now, so late at night, she couldn’t guess.

“I came… because I thought you wanted to see me,” she admitted slowly, looking at his face for clues as to his feelings on the matter. “You wrote me, when you didn’t have to… and then you mentioned playing chess.”

“Yes.”

“Did you… that is…” She cleared her throat. “Am I wrong?”

He leaned forward over the desk then, purposefully avoiding her gaze. As the silence dragged on, she began to feel silly. He didn’t need to answer the question – obviously she was wrong, and he just didn’t know how to tell her. She made to stand up, the pressure to bolt from the room like a startled deer almost overwhelming. But at the last moment, Cullen reached out and grabbed her hand.

“Wait!” he cried. She froze, eyes wide. In a softer voice, he added, “Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable-”

“You’re not,” he said firmly. She sat back down, though he didn’t relinquish his grip on her. He sighed, and she sent him a puzzled look. “You’re not wrong. I… would like to spend more time with you. We don’t know each other very well, it’s true. Perhaps… we should rectify that.”

“Yes,” she said. Her voice broke on the word, and she cleared her throat, scowling. “Yes. I think that would be advisable.” She leaned over the desk then, allowing him the opportunity to remove his hand if he so chose.

He didn’t.

Instead, he smiled at her.

“I would like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a 5K race this morning and won my age group, and for a prize, I got a brand new Smart Watch donated by the race sponsors! :D In the spirit of such generosity, I came back to the hotel and worked on this furiously to get it out.
> 
> A new chapter for you, and you, and you, and you! A new chapter for everybody! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kind words and kudos :) I am truly humbled by how well this has been received! (I guess that means I'm dull, right Dorian?) As always, feedback is very much loved!


	6. The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so nervous about this chapter :o Hold onto your butts!

Dorian looked around the room, confused.

He was beginning to think that the rumors had been wrong. There was nothing here that was out of the ordinary – an unkempt bed stood in the corner, next to a small table adorned only with a lamp. A chest was pushed against the wall by the bed, a haphazard stack of clothes piled atop it. A threadbare rug covered the floor, and various knick-knacks stood upon the plain wall shelves.

This was the room of a veritable sex fiend?

And then there was the man himself. Jim. Dorian crossed his arms over his chest as he took in the man’s appearance. He had thinning brown hair and plain grey eyes set in a weathered face. He wasn’t too tall or too short, and though he was relatively thin, he was going soft around the middle.

In short, the man was painfully plain.

“You’re Jim?” he asked flatly.

The man nodded, eyeing Dorian suspiciously. “That’s me,” he agreed.

“… are there any other Jim’s in Skyhold?”

“Not that I know of,” Jim replied.

Dorian made a noncommittal noise and walked further into the room. This seemed to be the right place, and Jim seemed to be the person he was looking for. But it was so odd – not what he was expecting, not in the slightest.

But what had he been expecting? Definitely someone taller, and not a small bit more handsome. He had to say, after all the fanciful stories he’d heard of Jim’s endeavors, he’d created quite a pretty picture in his mind’s eye. But this man didn’t satisfy any of his mental criteria.

“You wanted to see me, ser?”

“Oh, please, none of that ‘ser’ business,” Dorian said, waving a hand. “I’m not a knight.”

“Ah, alright,” Jim said hesitantly.

“My name is Dorian. Dorian Pavus, previously of Minrathous.” Dorian bowed with a flourish, unable to resist the smirk upon his face. “And you are from…?”

“Ferelden, se-Dorian,” Jim said quickly, correcting himself.

“That’s wonderfully specific,” the mage replied flatly.

“Ah, it’s just a small village,” Jim clarified. “Doesn’t really have a name. Went to Redcliffe to find work with the arl, and now I’m here.”

“That’s it?” Dorian asked, surprised.

Jim shrugged. “Not a lot to me,” he admitted. “I’m a simple man.”

Dorian chuckled. “From what I hear, it’s not _that_ simple,” he said.

“Huh?”

“You see, Jim – may I call you Jim?” The messenger nodded. “Jim. I’ve heard all kinds of sordid rumors about you. The kitchen staff in particular seems very well disposed towards you.”

Jim had the grace to look bashful as he twisted his hands behind his back – a nervous habit, or a sheepish gesture? “Ah, they’re nice ladies,” he said. “And Ralph. He’s a good man.”

“Yes, Ralph too had only the best praises to bestow upon you,” Dorian smirked. He sat down in a nearby chair, pushing the dirty cushion onto the floor. There was no way he was sitting on _that_ filthy thing. “You… are catching my drift here, correct?”

“I-I think so,” Jim said.

“I’m curious then,” Dorian continued, carefully watching the other man’s face. “How does an altogether average man from Ferelden get to be the best fuck in Skyhold?”

Jim shrugged. “I’ve had time to practice,” he said easily.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Forgive my suspicion,” he said lightly, “but you don’t seem the right… type for that.”

“What I lack in looks I make up in skill.” That admission was made with not an ounce of embarrassment; if anything the man looked slightly prideful.

Dorian barked out a laugh at that. “Such confidence!” he crowed. He pointed a finger at Jim. “I like you, Jim.”

“Er, thanks.” Jim shuffled from one foot to the next. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Dorian said, leaning back into the chair, one of his arms settling across the back with ease. It was a relaxed pose, meant to put the other man at ease. It apparently worked, for Jim moved to sit across from him on the bed.

“Why are you… well, why are you here?”

Dorian blinked. “I never was one to ignore my curiosity,” he admitted. “And I’ve simply heard too many juicy details about you. I just had to pry.” He leaned forward, gesturing to the chest at the end of the bed. “Tell me, Jim, what would I find if I looked in there?”

Jim studied him for a moment, measuring him up. His eyes were calculating as he took in Dorian’s appearance, from his manicured nails to his oiled skin to his particularly well-designed clothing. He raised an eyebrow at the scrutiny, smirking when the other man flushed at being caught.

“A good many things,” Jim admitted.

“Such as?”

Jim leaned forward. “What are you _looking_ to find?”

“I hear you have a diamond… ring,” Dorian replied, leaning forward ever so slightly.

“I do.”

“Might I see it?”

Jim moved to the chest, pulling a key out of his pocket to unlock it. He quickly moved the clothing to the floor before opening it. It took him several minutes of searching before he found what he was looking for. Standing up, he moved to hand Dorian the ring.

To say that it was just a diamond ring was misleading. The thing was covered in diamonds, encrusted with hundreds of tiny clear stones set in gilt. Dorian snorted. “To think that someone spent money on this,” he chortled. He held it up then, inspecting it more thoroughly. He eyed Jim through the center. “Tell me, is this… to scale?”

In response, Jim unbuckled his trousers, letting his pants fall to the floor along with his smallclothes. Dorian wasn’t at all surprised to see that his cock – a rather glorious specimen, if he did say so himself – was already half-hard. “You tell me,” the man said.

Dorian clenched the ring in his fist. “The rumors are true then,” he mused. He could already feel himself stirring to life in his own trousers. The thought of _that_ , deep inside him… he grinned at the thought. Even Hawke couldn’t compete with that kind of girth.

Jim stepped forward then, falling to knees just in front of Dorian. “I’ve heard rumors about you too, you know,” he said quietly. He placed his hands on Dorian’s knees, staring up at him with intense eyes.

“Oh?” He watched, grin turning into a smirk as Jim reached out for the top of his pants. “Have you now?”

“Quite a bit, actually.” Jim boldly pushed the first button through the catch. He looked up then, an unspoken confirmation for permission.

Dorian waved a hand, motioning the man to continue. Jim reached inside his trousers then, gripping him hard and fast. Dorian’s breath hitched in his throat as the other man pulled him out of his trousers. “Oh, do tell, what have you heard?” he asked, eyes glued upon the head between his knees.

Jim looked up at him once before swiftly taking him deep in his mouth.

“Fasta vass!” Dorian choked out, hand clawing out at the armrest. How had the man managed to get him so _deep_ so quickly? His cock had to be halfway down the man’s throat!

He could feel Jim smirk around him as he withdrew his mouth.

“They told me you were a screamer.”

* * * * *

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Dorian chuckled, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I assure you, I’m not,” he replied lightly, taking a delicate sip of wine.

Evelyn stared, unable to come up with a proper response. She wouldn’t have believed it had she not heard from Dorian himself. The very idea that a sex god walked among them, hidden from view, was tantamount to insanity, it was so ridiculous. And yet… Dorian had seen the evidence with his own eyes. He’d done more than just _see_ it, if his smirk was any indication.

“Jim,” she finally managed to get out.

“Jim,” Dorian confirmed.

“How… how was it?”

She had to admit… she was curious. It was different from before. To be truthful, she’d wanted to know of Dorian’s experiences with Hawke for the mental imagery. That pairing was too delicious not to save for later, more private time. But Dorian and Jim? It wasn’t so pretty a picture. No, this time it was her own morbid curiosity driving her questions.

“I have no words,” Dorian mused.

“You, speechless?” Evelyn snorted. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Believe me, my dear, neither did I,” he allowed. “But there really is nothing I can say that would do him justice.”

“But he’s so…”

“Ordinary?” Dorian supplied. “Oh, yes, I know. It’s intriguing, but I think that only adds to the charm.”

“So much for only liking pretty things,” she said teasingly, recalling their earlier conversation.

“Now, now,” he admonished. “I’m shallow, but not _that_ shallow. Jim isn’t ugly! He’s just not… pretty either.” He shrugged. “Besides, his skill more than made up for his looks. In that regard, he was most correct.”

“What did he do that was so spectacular?”

“Just… everything!” he replied. “I can’t critique his form!”

“Maker,” Evelyn breathed. “Someone who’s beyond _your_ reproach? This really must be the end of the world.”

“That’s a good angle to work,” he said suddenly, snapping a finger. “It’s the end of the world, you might as well make love to me like it’s last night in Thedas? Very nice, Evelyn! Now, why didn’t I think of that before?” He broke off pensively.

This was Dorian’s second conquest now. It was slightly infuriating to see how happy he looked, how _sated_ he was, when she’d been having no such luck herself. She’d already had to cross off several men on her list – including her top picks of Cullen, Hawke, and Ser Barris. Admittedly, she was getting on much better with her Commander more recently, but she’d already ceded him to Dorian.

That left the professors, Bull, Krem, and several other courtiers who moved in and out of Skyhold at regular intervals. She wasn’t sure which of them she could go after next. Her normal instinct would be Bull, but the Qunari’s situation with Dorian made her leery. She’d never been a fan of conflict, and would prefer to not get into the middle of it.

Krem then? She was hesitant there as well. She’d recently noticed the man making eyes at a pretty elf who worked in the infirmary. She didn’t want to interrupt something that was only just blossoming.

“You seem to be getting on well with the Commander.”

Evelyn looked up to see Dorian appraising her. “I’ve been talking to him more lately, yes,” she agreed. “He’s… much easier to talk to than I previously thought.”

“Not to mention easy on the eyes,” he agreed, smirking at her.

“He’s attempting to better my chess game,” she replied. She laughed a bit at that. “I’m afraid it’s not going well. I don’t think he quite knows what to do with me. My complete inaptitude has baffled him.”

“I’m going to skip the part where I mention how offended I am that you didn’t take up my own offers of help,” the mage said quickly. He leaned forward. “Have you decided to pursue him after all?”

She blinked at him once, and then frowned. “No!” she said. “I gave him to you!”

“Evelyn,” Dorian said, huffing. “You’ve clearly developed some sort of… inclination towards the man. I wouldn’t step into the way of that!”

“I couldn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Not after I told you to go after him.”

Dorian studied her for a moment. “I’ll tell you what,” he said slowly, one of his fingers tracing the rim of his wine glass. “I’ll go to see Cullen later today and proposition him. If he refuses, he’s all yours.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“I’ll have my way with him,” Dorian said simply. “But I sincerely doubt that that is going to happen, my dear.”

“You never know.”

“Oh, but I really think I do.”

* * * * *

“So tell me, Commander, on a scale of one to ten, how likely are you to ever act on my hints and make sweet love to my delicious body?”

Cullen literally spit out the ale in his mouth. The bartender glared at him and threw a rag in his direction. Cullen nodded his head gratefully and cleaned up the mess, ignoring the amused look Dorian was shooting him.

“Are you _trying_ to kill me?” he demanded.

“Kill you?” Dorian asked, sounding affronted. “Why, Commander, you’re one of my best friends in Skyhold! I’d never do such a thing!”

“Then you waited to ask me such a question right after I’d taken a drink because…?”

The mage shrugged. “It seemed the most opportune moment.” Cullen rolled his eyes and took a hasty drink, gulping it down before Dorian could ask him another question. “Are you going to answer?”

Cullen sighed and shifted uncomfortably on the barstool. How to put this? “Dorian, you must know that I consider you a friend,” he said slowly, staring down into his tankard. “But-”

He broke off as Dorian chuckled. “Rest easy, friend,” the mage said. “I was only joking.”

“Joking?” Cullen demanded. “Why would you joke about that?”

“Well, to be fair, it wasn’t a joke,” Dorian clarified. “It was a serious question. But I, in my infinite wisdom, already knew your answer. So I wasn’t taking it very seriously.”

“Wait, what?”

Dorian looked around the bar suspiciously, as if he were checking to see who was in the room. Cullen did the same; it _was_ a suspiciously quiet night in the tavern. Meryden the bard was nowhere to be seen, and Bull and the Chargers were missing as well. He knew Evelyn had sent them on a nearby scouting mission, but it was another thing entirely to see the tavern bare of their company.

“Evelyn and I have… a little game going on,” the mage said finally. His eyes returned to Cullen, a most serious expression on his face.

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “A game?” he repeated. Was this it? Was Dorian finally going to tell him why he’d been acting so strange over the past few weeks? Cullen knew he’d hear the truth of it eventually – the mage couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

“Both of us have been… lacking companionship of the romantic variety,” Dorian admitted. “So we mutually agreed to do something about it.”

Cullen had a bad feeling about this. “And that is…?”

“To put it nicely, we each came up with a list of people we found attractive,” the mage continued. “And ever since, we’ve been attempting to… succeed.”

“Succeed?” Cullen repeated.

Dorian cringed, as if he didn’t want to say anything further on the subject. “Get lucky,” he finally admitted.

Cullen was completely taken aback. He wasn’t all that surprised that Dorian would do such a thing; no, it was completely conceivable that the mage would make such an attempt. But Evelyn…? He’d not have guessed. But then again, they didn’t know each other very well.

The more he thought of it, the more confused he became. Was Evelyn only talking to him because she wanted him to… to _fuck_ her? It didn’t seem likely. But then again, she had been flirtatious lately… or had she? Was she being flirtatious, or was he just now _noticing_ that she was being flirtatious?

He sighed, putting a hand to his head.

“You’re taking this rather well, I think,” Dorian remarked.

Cullen raised an eyebrow at him. “Am I?” he demanded. “What’s your definition of ‘well’?”

“You aren’t yelling,” Dorian pointed out. “Nor are you giving me that disappointing frown you are so good at. Yes, _that_ one!”

Cullen relaxed his face, which had, unfortunately, fallen into a scowl. Instead, he huffed and took another drink of ale.

“Now, you must know you were my first choice,” the mage continued. “But my extreme powers of observation have informed me that you aren’t welcome to such advances.”

“Dorian-”

“I take no offense!” the mage said, putting up a hand. He smiled at Cullen. “You have decidedly poor taste, but that can’t be helped. However…” he drawled off, waiting for Cullen to finish his drink. “You were also Evelyn’s first choice.”

Cullen looked over at Dorian sharply. “What?” he asked.

“You were Evelyn’s first choice for male companionship,” Dorian continued. “She thinks you are… devastatingly handsome.”

“Her words, or yours?”

“Mine, but I know how she feels,” the mage said quickly.

Cullen mulled over his friend’s words. On the one hand, it was gratifying to know that Evelyn found him as attractive as he found her. And it greatly pleased him that he was her first choice. Then was she… was she trying to get him into bed? Was that what she meant by getting to know him?

“I embarrassed her in front of you,” Dorian admitted. Cullen, drawn from his thoughts, returned his attention to the mage. “That night you came to her quarters to give her those reports? She was highly embarrassed when I said she was lonely. So she told me that I could make the first attempt at seducing you.”

“And how has that gone for you?” Cullen asked, unable to help the wry grin his lips curled into.

“Rather poorly,” Dorian admitted, taking a drink. “Which is why I am graciously stepping out of the competition to give you to her.”

“Dorian-”

“There’s no need to worry yourself, Commander, I will survive!” The mage grinned at him. “I’m a big boy.”

“Dorian, I can’t… just bed the Inquisitor,” Cullen persisted.

“And why not?”

“It’s… “ And why couldn’t he? Was there some rule that forbid him from having relations with Evelyn? Not that he knew of. She wasn’t promised to anyone, nor was she currently involved in any sort of romantic relationship.

“It’s perfectly acceptable,” Dorian finished for him. He leaned in, lowering his voice. “She _likes_ you, Cullen. Even if she won’t admit it. If you’d rather get to know her first, then court her! By all means! But she won’t turn you away.”

“… you think?”

Dorian reached over and a put on his shoulder.

“Cullen. I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm back home. Holy heat. 
> 
> I can't tell what I think about this chapter. Hopefully it's not bad! A little short, but I wanted to give you guys something! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :) You guys are all too kind (though I won't stop you from being more kind) :)


	7. The Kiss

Maker, but she was beautiful.

Cullen had stopped at the head of the stairs to her private quarters, the stack of reports in his hand momentarily forgotten. Evelyn was bustling about the room, throwing clothes everywhere as she readied for an upcoming trip to the Western Approach. Her face was flushed, hair swinging around her lithe form like a dark aureole. She kept pausing to stand up straight and brush it back with her hands, but to no avail. It was like it had a mind of its own.

She had traded her formal Inquisition garb for plainer, darker clothes. It did nothing to hide the firm lines of her body, the hard angles of her hips and shoulders where they met the soft curves of her breasts and ass.

He cleared his throat, announcing his presence.

She whirled, green eyes flashing as she froze in her motions. She relaxed when she saw that it was him. “Cullen,” she said, waving a hand for him to come in.

“Evelyn,” he said, nodding his head once in acknowledgement. He stepped forward and handed her the reports. “These are those reports you wanted earlier.”

“Thank you,” she said. She looked over them for a moment, eyes flashing across the pages, before she tossed the entire stack onto her bed. “I’ll have to read them later. Josie wants me to meet with some minor nobles from Antiva this afternoon. So of course, that completely ruins my timetable for packing for the Approach. I went from having hours to having roughly _one_ hour.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Early tomorrow,” she replied, moving to straighten some shirts that were laying in a haphazard pile. “We hope to get to the Approach in as few days as possible. Hawke seems to think that we have no time to lose.”

“I tend to agree, based on his reports,” Cullen said easily. “Can I… help with anything?”

She smiled, and shook her head. “No, thank you though,” she said. She winked at him. “I couldn’t ask you to help me pack my smallclothes.”

He chuckled at that, hoping to hide the way his hand clenched to a fist at his side. Maker’s breath, her _smallclothes_. The last thing he needed to be thinking of was Evelyn in lingerie. But the imagery came to his mind anyways, ignoring his mental pleas for clarity. Were they plain and practical? Or exquisite and lacy? He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time to be thinking of such things!

“I’m taking Blackwall this time,” Evelyn continued, not noticing his discomfort. “I regret not taking him with me to Crestwood. I’m interested in getting his take on all of this with the Wardens.”

“His presence might be invaluable,” Cullen agreed. He watched as she walked over to her desk, grabbing her saddlebags. He pointedly looked away from her ass, swaying just so as she moved. Clear thoughts. Clear thoughts!

He didn’t look back at her until he heard the leather bags sink into the blankets of her bed. “I agree. Plus, I need to keep Dorian and Bull away from each other.”

“Oh?” Cullen raised an eyebrow.

Evelyn paused, straightening. “Did I not tell you?” she asked, frowning.

“I suppose not,” he replied.

She sighed and began moving towards a small couch by the fireplace, motioning for him to follow her. She collapsed into a pile of pillows, wrapping a hand around her hair and twisting it into a long rope. He sat down next to her, turning ever so slightly to face her.

“Something is going on between the two of them,” Evelyn continued. She stared into the fire as she spoke, her eyes contemplative. “I can’t put my finger on it. I asked Dorian about it, but he’s been… evasive.”

Cullen snorted. “That sounds about right,” he said.

“Tell me about it,” she agreed, chuckling. “I love him dearly, but he’s terrible at opening up to people. I can’t say I blame him, considering… well, it’s still annoying either way.”

Considering? He wondered what she meant by that; he wasn’t sure that he caught her drift. But he wasn’t going to push it. “What have you discovered?” he asked instead.

“He says…” She broke off, shaking her head. She looked... amused? “He says Bull is flirting with him. And that he doesn’t know what to do about it.” She looked up at him. “I didn’t know how to respond when he told me.”

“I admit, I would be at a loss for words as well,” he replied.

“I plan on talking to him more on the road,” she admitted. “Perhaps away from Bull, he’ll open up to me. That is, if he’s not off canoodling with Hawke.” She rolled her eyes.

“Canoodling?” he repeated.

“Dorian doesn’t know how to keep it in his pants.”

It was Cullen’s turn to chuckle now. “Oh, believe me, I’m aware of that.”

Evelyn didn’t immediately reply, and he paused. Had he said something wrong? She was staring at him with an odd look on her face. It was halfway between anxious and apprehensive. She bit her lower lip unconsciously, sitting up a little straighter. He had to look away then; her teeth worrying the red, puckered flesh caused him to have too many untoward thoughts. _Altogether_ too many.

“Has he ever… flirted with you?” she asked hesitantly.

Ah. There it was then. Had Dorian not told her that he was giving up on Cullen? He wouldn’t have thought it possible that the mage could've omitted such a detail. He had been sure that Dorian had run off to her immediately after nearly killing him in the tavern.

“Dorian flirts with everyone,” he said slowly. He smiled at her intake of breath, how she held it in her lungs waiting for his response. “Including me. But he knows that I’m not interested in him in that regard.”

“You aren’t?” Her voice was low, breathy even. _Maker_ , but she was going to be the death of him!

“Nor any other man,” he continued. “I much prefer female companionship.”

“I’m female.”

The words were so soft, only the movements of her lips let him know that she’d spoken at all. “You are,” he confirmed, grinning at her. By the way she flushed, he was afraid it was more wolfish than he’d intended.

She cleared her throat then, hands again moving to twist her hair. “I should let you get back to your work,” she said quickly. “I’ve taken too much of your time already.” She moved to get up off the couch and return to the bed, but he caught her hand at the last moment, staying her.

She turned to face him as he stood. This close, it was much more noticeable how tall she was, how long her exquisite legs were. If he stooped but a little, he could kiss her. Her full lips were parted – in anticipation? Surprise? He couldn’t tell.

He smiled, reaching out to push a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She froze, eyes widening as his leather glove touched the bare skin of her cheek. He wondered…

How would that skin feel against his bare skin?

He wanted to find out.

But not today. She was leaving for the Approach tomorrow, and he really did have to return to his duties. He had lingered here too long.

“Evelyn.” Both of his hands dropped to his sides, and he took a step back from her. He made a slight bow of the head, a smirk on his lips as he straightened. Her jade eyes watched his every move; they were _hungry,_ desirous even.

“You may take as much of my time as you need.”

* * * * *

Enough was enough.

Dorian had had _enough_.

For the better part of an hour, he’d been sitting at the bar and minding his own business, thank you very much! He’d ignored the stray comments that he just knew were directed at him. He’d ignored the furtive glances.

But no more.

Grabbing his glass and downing the rest of his wine, he stalked over to where Iron Bull was sitting, laughing with the Chargers. A few of them saw his approach and sidled out of the way, grabbing their tankards as they prepared to watch what they no doubt assumed was going to be quite a show. Oh, Dorian would give them a show all right!

“ _You_.”

He stopped in front of the Qunari. Bull’s laughter faded, and he slowly turned an appraising eye to Dorian. He didn’t so much as blink in the face of Dorian’s anger, which of course only further infuriated the mage.

“Might I have the _sincere_ pleasure of your company for a moment?” he snapped. “Alone?”

Bull shrugged and stood up, draining his flagon of ale before setting it on a stool. “Sure,” he said easily. “My room’s this way.” He pointed to the tavern entrance and left without a second glance.

Dorian scowled at his back as they left the tavern. Bull led them up to the ramparts and then along the walls to a crumbling tower. Once inside, he went down several flights of stairs until they reached a dark corridor, a single torch lighting the way. Dorian frowned distastefully at the cobwebs on the wall. This was where Bull slept? _Here_?

Bull yanked upon a nearby door handle; the wood scraped the floor, making an awful creaking noise. Dorian was hesitant to step into the room after him; it didn’t seem like place he’d enjoy. But he wasn’t backing down now!

To his surprise, the resulting room was actually quite well kept; the furniture was sparse, the walls void of decoration, but everything was very neat. Bull was already kneeling by the hearth, rekindling the embers of a fire that had cooled. It took only a few moments' work before the dying logs burst into flame again, and he sat back on his haunches, adding several fresh pieces to the blaze.

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the other to rise.

Bull stood across from him; in the enclosed space of the room, he appeared even larger than he normally did. Dorian had to crane his neck up to look him in the eye, a fact that annoyed him to no small extent.

“What is your problem?” Dorian demanded, unable to take the silence any longer. “Hmm? What have I done that so offends you? Is it because I’m a mage? Is it because I’m a mage from _Tevinter_?” He snorted. “Oh, yes – such sins in the eyes of the Qun!” He shook his head angrily.

“Offended me?” Bull repeated. “You think you’ve offended me?” He chuckled, and Dorian scowled at him. Of course the Qunari wouldn’t take this seriously. "The temper tantrum's a bit childish, yeah. But if you haven't noticed, it takes a bit more than that to offend me." 

“What else am I to think of your ridiculous behavior towards me?” Dorian snapped.

“Dorian. What is this really about?”

The use of his given name gave Dorian pause, but only for a moment. “Don’t you use those Ben-Hassrath tricks on me!” he said heatedly. “ _This_ is what this is about! I can see the glances; I can hear the remarks! Well, I would know your reasoning! Why, you great lummox, are you being so strange towards me?!”

“Believe me, if I were using Ben-Hassrath techniques, you’d know it,” Bull said quietly. Despite the lingering amusement on his face, his lone eye was very, very serious. The dissonance between the look and his voice was highly disconcerting. “And between the two of us, _I’m_ not the one who’s been running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off.”

“No, no, no,” the mage said, shaking his head. “You are the one who’s been acting… odd!” He refused to use Bull’s turn of phrase. “It’s the glances, the odd remarks, the staring! Damn it, it’s the _flirting_!” He paced across the floor a few times, attempting to ease his temper.

It didn’t work.

He turned to face Bull sharply, stepping closer to him. “Why are you flirting with me?” he demanded.

Bull stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged. “I didn’t know I needed a reason,” he said.

“I’m a mage!” Dorian cried. “From Tevinter! And you – you’re Qunari! My god, do you not hear how _ridiculous_ this sounds?”

“Screw how ridiculous it sounds!” Bull snapped; a hint of annoyance had crept into his voice. He took a step forward, and Dorian instantly took a step backwards. The Qunari continued to move until he had Dorian backed up against a wall. “Why do you need a reason? You can’t accept that I find you attractive?” He cocked his head, his horns menacing in the dim light of the room. “Wasn’t it _you_ who put me on your stupid fucking list?”

“An obvious lack of judgment on my part,” Dorian said flippantly.

Bull growled, slamming his arms against the wall by Dorian’s head. The mage paused, his anger instantly abating in the face of such an obvious threat. He very cautiously called on his magic; he hid it, not wanting to startle the Qunari into attacking, but he kept it at his fingertips, just in case. He didn’t plan on losing his face to the wrath of a brute.

But what Bull did next was certainly unexpected.

The Qunari leaned down and crashed their mouths together. Dorian’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth slipping open into a gasp. Bull took the opportunity to grab his jaw, keeping his head still as a hot tongue delved into his mouth. It was rough and raw, with more teeth than lip. His spare hand came up to clench Dorian’s shoulder.

Inexplicably, Dorian found himself kissing back.

Upon realizing this, Bull growled appreciatively, pressing up against him. Every plane of the Qunari's body was firm and hard against him, honed to perfection from years of training. And he was so very, _very_ large. Dorian felt completely trapped, and was almost ashamed at how much that thrilled him.

Almost.

Hesitantly, he reached to place one of his hands on Bull’s arm. The muscles flexed under his hand, but despite the how hard and unyielding those biceps were, the skin was surprisingly soft.

The hand on his shoulder shifted then, moving down to grasp at his hip. It was so large; it spanned all of his hipbone, holding him fast in an iron grip.

Dorian had never felt so powerless. He wasn’t a small man by any means, but the Iron Bull was something else entirely. He was taller, he was stronger, he was just… _bigger_. He was quickly discovering that he found the size difference arousing. _Intensely_ arousing.

As if he could read thoughts, Bull shifted his leg then, grinding himself into the front of Dorian’s trousers. The mage hissed as the thickly muscled limb pressed into his growing arousal. The noise didn’t go unnoticed, and Bull shifted again, the movement causing the most delicious sensation. A shuddering moan broke from Dorian's lips, his eyes slipping closed at the pleasure.

And just like that, Bull was stepping away. Dorian had to catch himself so he didn’t fall to the floor. He looked up at the Qunari questioningly, his lips swollen and his vision hazy.

“You know, Dorian, sometimes you're blind.” Dorian blinked at the harsh words, staring up at Bull as the other shook his head. “You like to think you’re observant, but you never really _see_.”

Bull left the room then, leaving Dorian in silence.

For a moment, he just stood there, panting and staring at the door Bull had slammed shut. What… had just happened? He took a deep breath through his nose, attempting to clear his thoughts. Had that… had that been real? He patted his clothing, straightening the wrinkles Bull’s hands had caused. No, no – this was real. It had to be.

He reached out a hand out to the wall to steady himself.

Bull had kissed him. Kissed him. The Iron Bull, Qunari mercenary and Ben-Hassreth agent, had _kissed_ him. Hard. On the mouth.

With teeth.

He shook his head. He’d intended to get to the bottom of this mess. He’d intended to find out what the Iron Bull was doing, and make him stop. He’d certainly not intended to find himself shoved up against a wall, kissing the man and moaning wantonly, desperate for more contact.

He sighed.

No. Now he more confused than ever.

* * * * *

Cullen stared at Dorian across the chessboard, observing his friend.

Dorian hadn’t been himself all night. He’d barged into Cullen’s office and demanded a game, true to his character, but after the initial outburst he’d been silent. He’d not said one more word. He wasn’t even trying to cheat.

It worried Cullen. It wasn’t like the other man.

“You’re very quiet tonight,” he said cautiously, watching as Dorian moved a knight.

“You would be too, if a Qunari mercenary had just up and kissed you,” the mage said flatly.

Cullen inhaled sharply. “ _What_?” he demanded. Had he heard the other right?

Dorian raised an eyebrow at him. “Did I stutter?” he asked. He snorted, shaking his head. “Oh, yes. He kissed me.”

“Did he – he didn’t…” Cullen cleared his throat, making a gesture with his hands that he felt was completely and totally useless at getting his point across. Dorian continued to stare at him expectantly, and he sighed. “He didn’t… _force_ himself on you, did he?”

“Heavens, no!” Dorian said quickly. “Of course not! No. No, Bull would never do such a thing.”

That was good to hear. “I had to ask,” Cullen murmured, moving a piece of his own.

“No, I appreciate your concern,” Dorian replied. “However unfounded.”

“Then what happened?” Cullen was unable to resist. He had to admit the news was rather unexpected. Hadn’t Evelyn just told him earlier how the two of them weren’t getting along? And now Bull had kissed Dorian?

Dorian sighed. “I went to confront him about his strange behavior towards me,” he replied. “One thing led to another, and… he kissed me.”

“… that’s it?”

“Oh, he left in an appropriately brusque manner,” Dorian said flatly. “He told me I was stupid and unobservant and left.”

“I’m… sorry.”

Dorian waved a hand. “None of that, if you please,” he remarked. He moved a pawn, taking one of Cullen’s. It wasn’t a very good move; he’d just opened himself up to a flanking maneuver that Cullen was rather fond of.

Cullen made the first of his set of moves cautiously, staring at his friend instead of the board. Dorian didn’t seem very interested in the move, though his hazel eyes were downcast. Cullen sighed then, sitting back in his chair.

“We don’t have to play if you’re distracted,” he said quietly.

Dorian blinked. “Distracted?” he repeated. He snorted then. “I suppose I am.”

“Are you… that is… well, how do you feel about the kiss?” Maker’s breath, but he wasn’t good at this kind of conversation. Thankfully, as a Templar, he hadn’t had many of them. Romances in the Circles had been discouraged; what relations most Templars managed to have were largely sexual in nature, and involved whorehouses more often than actual mages.

One tended to discuss the graphical details of encounters with whores. Not feelings.

“I didn’t want it to stop,” Dorian whispered. Cullen hesitated, unsure of whether or not to respond. The other man looked up at him, clearly conflicted. “What does that mean?”

“Well… you _did_ have Bull on that list you drew up, didn’t you?” Cullen asked cautiously. Dorian nodded. “Surely that means you’re at least… a little attracted to the man?”

“Maybe,” Dorian agreed. “But I don’t understand! He’s Qunari.”

Cullen frowned. “What has that to do with anything?” he asked.

Dorian chuckled; it was a sad, desperate sound. “You southerners don’t understand,” he replied. “But when you live in Tevinter, so close to Par Vollen… the people of the Qun are different, Cullen. In everything they do. They’re not like us. They’re not like _you_.” He shook his head. “I can’t understand his motivations. He confuses me.”

Cullen knew how much of an admission that was. Evelyn had said that Dorian didn’t particularly care for opening up to people. She was right. The two of them were probably the only people in the entire Inquisition to whom Dorian revealed _anything_. For Dorian to make such a confession to him spoke volumes about their friendship.

“I can’t say I understand him very well either,” he said slowly. “But Bull isn’t needlessly cruel. He’s… generally an easygoing person.”

Dorian snorted. “It only adds to my confusion,” he agreed. “He’s Qunari, but he’s unlike the many other Qunari I’ve met.” He shook his head. “I can’t stop thinking about it.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m going to go mad if I lose any more sleep over this!”

“You can’t sleep?”

“It’s infuriating,” Dorian commented. “It’s entirely too much to process.”

Cullen reached into a pocket then. By a lucky coincidence, he’d just gone to see the healers earlier today, asking them for more sleeping draughts. The lyrium dreams had been particularly painful lately, and their bitter tonics were often the only thing that could ease the pain.

Well, Evelyn’s naked form in very _different_ kind of dream worked too, but he wasn’t telling that to the healers.

He reached out and pressed one of the small vials into Dorian’s palm.

“What’s this?” The mage looked at the blue liquid suspiciously. “This isn’t-”

“No,” Cullen said sharply. “It’s just a sleeping draught. The healers give them to me for… for when the dreams are particularly bad. They induce dreamless sleep almost instantly. You take one and use it tonight. You’re leaving for the Approach in the morning. It’s a difficult enough road _with_ a full night’s sleep.”

Dorian’s hand curled around the vial. “Thank you,” he murmured gratefully.

“Of course.”

A silence grew between them, but it was far more comfortable than it had been earlier. Dorian snorted suddenly, breaking the stillness, and Cullen looked up to see his friend smirking at the board.

“I was losing rather spectacularly, wasn’t I?” the mage asked sardonically.

Cullen grinned. “Probably your worst performance yet.”

Dorian winced, but pushed himself out of his chair. “I’ll forgive that remark because of your prior kindness,” he said easily, motioning to the vial. “And your discretion, of course.”

Cullen frowned. Who would he tell? But he nodded nonetheless.

“Not even Evelyn, Cullen.”

“You don’t want her to know?”

“I… haven’t told her yet.” Dorian held up a hand to forestall Cullen’s comments. “I will, I will!” He snorted then. “It’s not as if we won’t have hours heading out to the blasted desert. Just… let me tell her myself.”

“Alright.”

Dorian reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Cullen Rutherford,” he said. “I did not think to find such a friend here.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Pavus,” Cullen smirked.

“ _Not bad?_ I’m wonderful,” Dorian quipped, a faint smile on his lips.

Cullen chuckled. “At least your ego’s still intact,” he muttered.

“I prefer invulnerable,” Dorian replied.

“Good night, Dorian.” Cullen’s voice was firm, a polite reminder that Dorian should get to his quarters for some much needed sleep. Dorian chuckled, but gave him a mock salute before turning on his heel and leaving the garden.

Cullen pushed himself out of his chair, heading back to his own office. He was glad that he’d been able to offer some small comfort to his friend; he wasn’t very good at giving advice, but he liked to think himself a good listener. It was often all that was needed in such situations.

He just hoped Dorian didn’t take things too personally. The mage was much more sensitive than he let on, though he hid it well with his sarcasm.

He'd noticed that Evelyn had a similar habit, though she was self-deprecating more than sarcastic.

Cullen pushed the door to his quarters open. He paused when he saw a messenger waiting for him, a sealed letter in his hands. He sighed, stepping forward to take it. He’d been hoping to finish up a few reports and then head to bed himself. He was more tired than he wanted to admit. But there was always something more, wasn’t there? What was that saying again?

Ah, yes.

_'Twas never any rest for the wicked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? A two update weekend? Madness! 
> 
> No, I slept almost all day because I wasn't feeling great, but after some sushi and a cuddle sesh, I'm wide awake and had nothing to do. So I wrote another chapter! I hope y'all like this, I had a lot of fun writing this one :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I love hearing you guys' feedback, if you'd like to leave a comment! :)


	8. The Nicknames

“A little birdie told me that you wanted to talk to me.”

Evelyn heard a snort from behind her. “Birdie, my ass,” Varric muttered, just loud enough for her to hear him. She grinned at him before returning her gaze to Dorian.

The mage’s face was amused. “I do have something to discuss with you,” he replied. He pushed his horse forward then, far enough ahead of the rest of the group that any conversation wouldn’t be overheard. She urged her own mount to follow him. He waited until she was at his side before speaking. “So. Bull kissed me.”

Evelyn looked over at the mage sharply. “ _What?”_ she breathed.

He sighed and looked up to the heavens. “Why do people always react that way?” he muttered. Shaking his head, he added, “Yes. Just before we left Skyhold.”

“And you’re just telling me this _now?”_

“I needed time to process!” he snapped. “Things like that don’t just happen every day, you know!”

She supposed that was true. “You’re right,” she said sheepishly. She looked at Dorian out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his state of mind. For someone who’d just confessed to being kissed by someone they professed to dislike, he didn’t look very upset. She debated what to ask next – did she want sordid details, the context, or his feelings on the matter?

She went with the option least likely to end dangerously. “What happened?”

“I confronted him about his behavior towards me,” Dorian replied. “The flirting, the odd comments, those kinds of things, you understand. I was angry, and I demanded to know why he’d been acting so strange.”

“And then…?”

“And then he kissed me.”

“So you went from arguing, to demanding answers, to kissing?”

He chuckled. “It’s a common enough scenario, darling,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes. “Alright, I understand, but why would Bull do such a thing?”

“Are you suggesting that kissing me would be anything less than delightful?”

Evelyn snorted. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said. “But you have to admit, it’s not what I would have expected to happen. Or what you expected to happen.”

“Of course not!” Dorian agreed. “I thought he was going to hang me on a coat hook and use me for target practice!” He huffed, straightening a rumpled flap on his robes. “You should’ve seen the way he looked at me after I started yelling at him.”

“Yes, I’ve found it’s generally not a good idea to yell at people like Bull,” she commented. She steered her horse around a large rock in the road, looping around to return to Dorian’s side. “The difference in size and weight doesn’t often work out in my favor.”

“Be that as it may,” he said quietly, “here we are.” He paused, thinking for a moment. “I actually quite enjoyed it.”

“Did you?” she asked sharply, raising a curious eyebrow at him.

“I have to say, he has this… animalistic quality that’s really quite appealing,” Dorian admitted. “It’s savage, totally barbaric. But he has himself under control the entire time.”

“I see your point,” she said, nodding. It was easy enough to picture; Bull was quite the philistine to most southerners. They saw his towering form and his pronged horns and assumed him to be the worst of barbarians. But there was a certain appeal to that, especially among the women of Skyhold. Bull was well known for his sexual endeavors; he wasn’t particularly picky, and was quite eager to please.

But Bull was also a creature of refined control. In battles, he moved with a staggering, savage grace. He was brutal and unforgiving, but there was a serenity to his movements that spoke of years of martial training. It was a carefully controlled madness. She could only imagine what he was like in the bedroom.

“Did you hear me?”

“Hmm?” Evelyn looked up, her reverie broken.

Dorian sighed. “I said that I wasn’t sure what I was going to do about it.”

She blinked. “Well, he was on your list, right?” she asked. “Why don’t you go for it?”

“See, there’s the rub,” he said. “Bull doesn’t like to share.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Planning on inviting another to join the two of you?” she asked.

“I won’t deny I’m intrigued by the idea,” he said blithely, “but that wasn’t what I meant, no. How do I put this… see, if I were to sleep with Bull, I have a feeling he’d get possessive.”

She snorted. “You know he’s slept with nearly every serving girl in Skyhold, right?” she asked. “He’s not exactly being exclusive with them.”

“This is different,” Dorian replied, shaking his head. “I don’t think he sees me as… another random encounter.”

“And why’s that?”

“It’s… hard to explain.”

“We’ve got nothing but time.”

A sudden cry broke through their conversation. Evelyn wheeled her horse around, searching for the noise. Blast this desert! Everything looked the same; it was so difficult to see anything out of the ordinary. It was just sand, sand, sand, and rock for miles and miles. She squinted, holding a hand up to her brow to ward off the sun’s rays.

There. She could just make out a horse and rider coming towards them fast.

She drew her up horse, signaling for the others to do the same. She reached behind her for an arrow, preparing for the worst. But she needn’t have feared. She soon recognized Hawke’s dark features.

“It’s Hawke,” she said to the others, spurring her horse forward towards the mage.

He looked out of breath, and very, very concerned. That wasn’t good.

“Over there!” Hawke pointed off to the north as he approached them; in the distance, Evelyn could just make out several towering black spires. “That’s where the Grey Wardens are!”

“What are they doing?” she demanded. She didn’t like the tone of Hawke’s voice; it was dark, and not a little frightened.

“Blood magic,” he spat out. His horse, lathered in sweat, was pacing anxiously, and he had to fight to keep it still. “Come! We haven’t any time to lose!”

* * * * *

“I don’t like it.”

Evelyn looked up at Hawke. He still looked haunted from the afternoon’s encounter with the Tevinter mage Erimond. He and Stroud had discussed the situation all afternoon, but it didn’t appear as if any of his fears had been assuaged. She couldn’t say she blamed the man. This was probably the worst possible scenario she could imagine.

Other than Corypheus winning. But the Grey Wardens turning themselves into demons via a blood magic ritual was a close second.

“Stroud says the Wardens are holed up at Adamant Fortress,” he continued, staring balefully into the fire. “We’ll have to find a way to get through to them.”

“Do you mean attacking the castle?” she asked. “Or forcing them to see reason?”

“Both, I suppose,” he replied. He looked up at her. “I fear diplomacy will fail in this situation. Clarel must be convinced that this is the right thing to do. Foolish woman.” He broke off with a sigh before fixing her with a very serious stare. “We may need to bring in the Inquisition’s military for… aggressive negotiations.”

She quirked her mouth up in a wry smile. “I believe that’s why we have an army,” she replied.

“They are good for some things.”

Dorian walked by then. He gave Hawke a very suggestive leer before moving to his tent, heading inside for the night. Hawke shook his head. “Is he always that way?” he asked her, grinning.

Evelyn chuckled. “I’m afraid so,” she admitted. “But he means well.”

“He seems like a good man,” Hawke agreed. He snorted then. “From what little time I’ve spent actually talking to him, that is.”

“You mean you’ve wasted your clandestine night together on sex?” she asked innocently. That drew a laugh from him. “I’d _never_ have guessed.”

“I don’t know that many people from Tevinter,” Hawke admitted. “What few I do know tend to be former slaves. Did Varric ever tell you about Fenris?”

“A few things,” she said, nodding.

“He’s a close friend of mine, though I don’t see him as often as I’d like. Fenris has… very strong feelings on Tevinter, as I’m sure you can imagine.” She nodded that she could. “So when I heard about Dorian, I was eager to meet him. To see what it’s like from the other side of things, you know.

“It’s… easy to imagine the people of Tevinter as cruel,” he continued. “Most people from the south have only heard the wildest of tales, half of which are absurd even in places like Minrathous. And former slaves, like Fenris, can’t exactly put aside their personal biases.”

“Is it a bias?” she asked tentatively. From what Varric had told her, Fenris the elf hadn’t had the kindest of masters. Of course he would hate the man who’d enslaved him and marked him with lyrium. Wouldn't anyone? “From what I understood, Danarius wasn’t exactly a model citizen.”

“Well, no, not at all,” Hawke agreed. “But I’m not sure Fenris would even be willing to give someone like Dorian a chance.” He sighed. “It’s a difficult situation. Dorian is… not what I expected. Oh, in some ways, he’s precisely what I expected. But in others… he has much more insight into the problems with the Imperium than I would have thought. And his desire to change the country is admirable.”

“You must be very good at pillow talk if you got that far in one night,” she said, chuckling.

He returned the laugh. “Two nights. There were two nights.”

She frowned. “When was the second?”

Hawke actually blushed. “Ah, well, if you’ll remember that cave on the road to Crestwood…”

“You got Dorian to have sex with you in a cave?” she demanded. “ _Dorian_?”

Hawke’s only response was a shrug.

“Remind me to never argue with you in public,” she muttered. “My ego couldn’t take your skills of persuasion.”

“Duly noted, Inquisitor.” He smiled at her.

“Please, call me Evelyn,” she said, waving a hand. “Or Tits, as Varric has so eloquently named me.”

“ _Tits_?” Hawke repeated, chortling. “What did you do to deserve that?”

“There was… an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction in front of a very conservative Chantry cleric,” she admitted, squirming uncomfortably in her seat. “Roderick… uh, caught a full view, so to speak, and he could never look me in the eye afterward. Even when he was denouncing me to the masses.”

She shook her head, thinking back on the old man. He’d always flushed when he’d seen her, though whether it was because of her breasts or her supposed heresy, she’d never discovered. He’d eventually given up on accusing her of blasphemy, and had even helped her in the end, during the flight from Haven. She’d forgiven him easily enough, realizing that his rants were driven more by fear and opportunism than actual conviction.

Still. She liked to think her breasts might have played a role in expunging her guilt. They were very nice tits.

“Tits, it is,” Hawke agreed. “And please, call me Devon. Or Shits.”

“Shits?” she snorted.

“You _really_ don’t want to know the story behind that one,” he allowed.

She shook her head. “Tits and Shits, the saviors of Kirkwall and Thedas,” she muttered. “What a pair we make.”

The conversation dragged on for a few more moments before petering out into a companionable silence. Evelyn found her eyelids growing heavy, and her muscles were beginning to protest the hours she’d spent in the saddle today. Her weariness wasn’t lost on her companion.

“I believe I’ll stay here tonight,” he announced. “Head out in the morning. You should turn in yourself. You look dead on your feet. Or rump, as the case may be.”

“I think you’re right,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. She stretched, unable to stop the yawn that poured from her lips. “I’ll write to Cullen tomorrow to see what can be done about the situation at Adamant. I suspect we’ll have to head back to Skyhold to finalize anything, though.”

Hawke nodded. “Good night, Tits.”

She snorted. “Good night, Shits.”

* * * * *

_Evelyn perched on his lap, rolling her hips into his growing arousal._

_Cullen groaned, hands reaching out to pull her closer to him. She slapped his hands away with a giggle, the movement jarring her breasts. Maker, her full, glorious breasts. He attempted to touch her a second time, reaching up instead of down to palm one of the round, heavy mounds. She hummed in approval, throwing her head back and gazing down at him through lusty eyes._

_He kneaded the warm flesh beneath his hand until her nipple was puckered before pinching it between his fingers. She hissed, bucking her hips down into him. That drew another groan from his lips, and he pulled her down to meet her lips. She teased his mouth with her tongue, teeth nipping at his lower lip._

_He fisted his hands in her dark hair; it was like ribbons of silk between his fingers. Her own fingers ghosted up his sides, palming his chest and then his biceps before moving to cradle his neck. All the while, her hips continued to dance atop his cock in a sinuous dance. She was so wet; he could feel her dripping onto him, and Maker’s breath, he wanted to taste it, see if it was as delicious as it smelled._

_He easily flipped them over so that he was atop her, his lips never once leaving hers. He ground his hips down into hers, relishing the gasp the contact drew from her lips. “Cullen!” she moaned, hands moving to clutch at his back. The next time he pushed down, her hips rose to meet him, pressing her sex to him with abandon._

_His tore his lips away from hers, mouth growing frantic as he pressed kisses down the column of her throat, and then down across her breastbone. He nipped at her ribs and painted a steaming trail down the flat plane of her stomach with his tongue, pausing right before he hit her core._

_She looked down at him, panting, her jade eyes clouding over with desire. “What are you waiting for?” she murmured, fisting her hands in the sheet. She pushed her sex closer to his face, urging him on, challenging him to lick her, kiss her, taste her –_

“Commander!”

Cullen jerked awake with a start, legs tangling in the sheets beneath him as he twisted to cover his naked form. “Maker’s breath!” he muttered under his breath. He _would_ be interrupted now. What was it – at this time of night? Whoever it was had better have pulled him from what he considered a rather fantastic dream for a good reason!

He pushed himself off the bed quickly, pulling on the closest pair of trousers. He had to stifle a groan as he stuffed his aching cock inside the breeches; he pulled on a loose overshirt in the hopes of hiding it before climbing down the ladder.

A sentry stood before him nervously, a letter in his hands.

“What is it?” Cullen was afraid the words were more of a growl than a civilized question, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“Urgent letter from the Inquisitor,” the man said quickly, proffering the letter. “It’s addressed this morning.”

“You opened it?” Cullen asked sharply, taking Evelyn’s letter.

“N-no!” the guard said quickly, heat flooding his cheeks. “Sister Leliana intercepted it before I could get it!”

Cullen sighed. Well. It appeared Leliana would now have further insight into their burgeoning relationship. He suspected she was already keeping tabs on the development, but he really hated it when fate helped her out. Maker knew the woman didn’t need the aid.

“Don’t worry,” Cullen said, waving the man off. “I doubt you could have intercepted anything Sister Leliana wanted to read. Thank you for bringing this to me. Return to your post, sentry.” The man nodded, eager to leave the room.

Cullen sat down at his desk. The seal on the letter had already been broken; he recognized Leliana’s precise, neat work. There must be something afoot if she was intercepting personal mail. He frowned then. Or was it personal mail? Perhaps it was a report?

 _Cullen,_ it read.

_We are returning to Skyhold immediately, pushing our mounts hard. Expect our return shortly. The affair with the Wardens was a disaster. I don’t trust the full events to a letter, but my news is not good. Hawke is deeply concerned, and has ridden off to join Stroud at Adamant Fortress._

_It… appears that we have need of an army._

_Ready your troops, Commander. I fear there is to be a fight in the days ahead._

_Evelyn_

Cullen rubbed a hand over his face, mulling over the contents of the letter in his head. Adamant Fortress; why in Thedas were Hawke and Stroud going there? It had long been abandoned, since the Blessed Age, when the Wardens had deemed it too costly to maintain a presence there.

He shook his head and looked out the window. Though it was later than he had thought, dawn was still several hours away, and the skies were still dark. He should return to bed, attempt to sleep for a few more hours. But he knew that he would get no more sleep tonight. 

He sighed, looking down at his trousers. The worry over Adamant had killed his arousal, and now he found himself worried for Evelyn and her companions. Had they been attacked? Had they had to flee the Approach? Was anyone injured?

Well. There was certainly nothing he could do other than wait for the Inquisitor’s return. Frustrated at the impotence, he moved to light several of his desk candles, placing them at intervals around the edge of his working space.

He might as well get some work done if he wasn’t going to get any sleep.

* * * * *

“Hey, Dorian.”

Dorian looked up, lifting his eyebrow at the Iron Bull as the other approached him. The Qunari was walking slowly, calmly, across the courtyard, his movements betraying none of whatever emotions he was experiencing.

Damned ox. Always impossible to read.

Bull motioned to a nearby alcove. It was situated in a small corner, not hidden but also secluded from prying eyes and ears. “Can I talk to you?”

“Oh, I suppose,” Dorian said. He closed the book he’d been reading and rose to his feet, following Bull. He stayed a few paces behind, his steps guarded. He wasn’t sure of what to expect, but luck favored the prepared.

Or at least, that’s what he’d always heard.

Bull leaned against the back wall of the tavern, crossing his arms over his chest. He studied Dorian for a moment before speaking. “About the other day,” he muttered. “Before you left for the Approach.”

“Yes?” Dorian prompted. “What about it?”

“I want a repeat.”

Dorian blinked. Well, _that_ had certainly not been what he was expecting!

Now it was his turn to cross his arms over his chest. “As I recall, it wasn’t me who ended the… encounter,” he replied. “You walked away from me. Called me… what was it again?” Dorian put a finger to his lips, feigning momentary ignorance. “Ah, yes! ‘Fucking stupid’, I believe?”

Bull didn’t say anything, continuing to appraise him.

“Tell me, Bull, why would I, apparently _so_ fucking stupid, want to do such a thing?”

“Because you liked it.”

Dorian huffed. “Well, that’s beside the point!” he said crossly.

“It’s exactly the point,” Bull countered. “I liked it. You liked it. So what’s stopping us from doing it again?”

“Everything!” Dorian snapped. He sighed then, slowly counting to five in his head before continuing. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.” Bull took a step forward, intent.

“You… it doesn’t…” Dorian broke off with a frustrated noise. He ran a hand through his hair in an uncommon nervous gesture. Perhaps he’d been hanging around with Cullen too long, picking up on the other man’s habits. He smirked at the thought, though his amusement was short-lived as his attention was drawn back to the task at hand. “I’m not sure I can explain it.”

“Then tell me what’s stopping you. Isn’t the whole point of this… list thing you and the Boss have to get laid?”

“Well, yes,” Dorian admitted.

“And I’m on the list,” Bull persisted.

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t see the problem here.”

“It’s complicated,” Dorian snapped. “Hawke comes to Skyhold once in a blue moon! After we venture to Adamant Fortress, there’s a good chance I’ll never see him again. It was a one-time thing, as it was supposed to be! You…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “You…”

“Would see me all of the time,” Bull finished.

“Precisely,” Dorian said, nodding firmly. “I’m not looking for a… relationship, or anything of the sort.”

Bull snorted then. “And you think I am?” he asked. “We don’t exactly have lovers under the Qun.”

“I know that,” Dorian snapped. “But it’s… different.”

“Only in your head,” Bull insisted. “This doesn’t have to be any different from what happened with Hawke.”

Dorian stared up at the Qunari, searching the other’s face for hints of his true intentions. But of course there were none. Bull never gave away secrets. His face was always composed into a perfect semblance of happy bemusement. Well, save when he was hitting things. Then it tended to be rather savage.

“Can it be?” he asked quietly.

He wasn’t sure. He’d been sure of things with Hawke; both of them had understood that nothing could ever exist between them. Nothing other than lust. He’d left things settled with Jim, too. The man had been merely a curiosity, and while Dorian had left thoroughly satisfied, he wasn’t tempted to go back for seconds.

But Bull…

Something told him that things with the Qunari would be different. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It was just an intuition.

Bull was still waiting expectantly for his reply.

Dorian shook his head, looking away. “I’ll have to think about it,” he murmured.

The Qunari was silent for a moment before nodding. “You know where to find me,” he replied. They stood in silence for a few more seconds before Bull headed back to the tavern.

Once alone, Dorian sighed. “Damn it all,” he swore under his breath.

Why did things always have to get complicated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, another fun chapter to write!
> 
> We're slowly building (and heating) things up now. I DO have a small one-shot to write for Dorian in Thedas' Most Bangable collection; and YES, that was a shameless plug. See here for more details: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ThedasMostBangable . So I might work on that next, but who knows. I write as my muses move me. haha
> 
> Thanks again for the kind words and kudos! I love hearing your feedback! Y'all are great :D


	9. The Interruption

“The Grey Wardens are conducting blood magic rituals that will bind them all to demons,” Evelyn said bluntly. She’d imagined this conversation with her advisors during their flight from the Approach, and she’d not managed to come up with an easier way of telling them the truth. She had eventually decided that it would be best if she was blunt. Tell them the truth, as difficult as it was to swallow. She’d steeled herself before the meeting, preparing for their dismay. Still, she couldn’t help but wince at the shocked and outraged expressions she saw on their faces.

“Their plan is to then go into the Deep Roads, find the remaining archdemons, and kill them before another Blight can occur,” she continued. “Of course, in order to do such a thing, their mages have to remain human.” She sighed. “... and those mages have already succumbed to Corypheus’ control over them.”

“This is terrible,” Leliana murmured.

Evelyn was pained by her friend’s troubled mien. She knew that Leliana had once been romantically involved with a Warden – a Dalish elf who had become the Hero of Ferelden. She’d never asked what had become of the two of them. But she couldn’t imagine that Leliana enjoyed hearing such grim news when it potentially affected someone very dear to her heart.

“What madness,” Cassandra snapped, her tone scathing. “Why would they do such a thing? Turn themselves to demons? For what purpose?”

“Erimond, the mage from Tevinter, mentioned something about turning them into a mindless horde,” Evelyn replied. “He said that… demons didn’t need food, or water, or shelter. They wouldn’t succumb to the Taint, should they encounter darkspawn. They would be able to carve a path straight to the archdemon lairs.”

“The perfect soldiers,” Cullen snorted. He shook his head, looking down at the map.

“And Corypheus will use these perfect soldiers as his own personal army,” Leliana surmised. “He will not let them go to the Deep Roads.” She tapped the map, right where “Orlais” was emblazoned in flowing script. “He will use them to destroy the Empire.”

“They must be stopped then,” Cullen said, as if that were the simplest thing in the world to do. He looked over at Evelyn then. “Have you any suggestions?”

“We know the remaining Wardens in Orlais are gathering at Adamant Fortress,” Evelyn answered, pointing to the marker she’d set on the map. “Hawke has asked for our help in getting into the castle. From there, we have to get to Clarel and get her to see reason. She’s the only one who can put a stop to this now.”

Cullen snorted. “Yes, all we have to do is take the castle by siege,” he said, smirking at her. “Is that it? Why didn’t you say so earlier?” She flushed – she couldn’t tell if he was teasing, or making fun of her outright. She was tempted to believe it was the former from the way his eyes twinkled at her. She smiled back at him tentatively.

“Not up to the task, Commander?”

His smirk deepened, and she was thoroughly convinced now that it had been the former.

“Fortunately, Inquisitor, I may be able to help with that,” Josephine added, moving a step closer. “Adamant Fortress is strong, and very well made – but it is old. Very old. It was built long before military engineers ever devised any sort of siege equipment.” She paused, looking down at her writing board. “One of my contacts has graciously lent us the use of her own equipment until such time as we can make our own. Shall I have them shipped to the Approach?”

“Yes!” Evelyn said, nodding. What a relief!

“In the meantime, I will start readying our troops for the march to Adamant,” Cullen said. “I will have Rylen prepare some auxiliary units from the Western Approach as well. They can join us along the way. He can also have some men scout the path to the fortress and make sure there are no surprises in wait for us.”

“How long will it take you to ready our forces?”

“Three days at most,” he replied. “From there, it’s a week and a half’s hard travel to Adamant, with a short stop at Griffon Wing Keep.”

“I will alert the nobility of Orlais to our plans, so that they do not see our troops moving through their territory as a threat,” Josephine announced, scribbling some notes on her writing board. “With any luck, they may even send reinforcements.”

“Will we need reinforcements?” Leliana asked sharply.

“I hope not,” Cullen replied. “But one can never be too careful, or have too many soldiers.”

“Yes,” Evelyn agreed, looking back down at the map. She frowned, wondering if they would make it in time. Stroud had seemed sure that not all of the Wardens were at Adamant; they were traveling from all over Orlais, and it would take them time to reach the fortress. But would that small window give the Inquisition the time to rally their troops and make the journey?

She wasn’t sure.

As with so many things she’d been forced to do as Inquisitor, she was never sure. Doubt gnawed at her constantly, causing her undue stress. She absently rubbed at her forehead, trying to ease the headache she could already feel building behind her brows.

 _This_ was why she needed to get laid. To ease the tension, get some relief.

With a sigh, she looked back up at her advisors. They were watching her expectantly; Cullen’s face was tinged with worry, his features drawn into a frown. “Are there any others matter to attend?” she asked.

“No,” Josephine replied, shaking her head. “Adamant Fortress should be our only concern for the moment. I will postpone further diplomatic issues until you have returned safely.”

“Thank you, Josie,” Evelyn said gratefully. She turned to Leliana, raising an eyebrow.

“I must send some messages,” the spymaster said curtly. “But that is all. I will keep you updated on my latest news.” She gave a small nod of the head before exiting the war room, no doubt to return to her tower.

Josephine followed her, murmuring a polite, “Inquisitor. Commander,” on her way out of the door.

That left Evelyn and Cullen.

She expected Cullen to follow her other advisors, her belief seemingly confirmed when he walked over to the doors of the war room. To her surprise, however, he shut them before turning around to face her. She blinked quizzically at him.

“Are you alright?” he asked bluntly, taking a step towards her. “You seem… troubled.”

“Just tired is all,” she replied, leaning back against the war table.

“You rode hard to arrive back so quickly,” he allowed. “And you must leave again in a few days’ time.”

“I’ll enjoy the break while I can,” she snorted, hanging her head. Her hair fell around her face like a black curtain, and she irritably pushed it back. It fought her, half swinging forward to cloud her vision again. Annoyed, she looked back up, only to find Cullen staring at her. She flushed at the scrutiny, and raised an eyebrow. “Is there something on my face?”

“Nothing that isn’t supposed to be there,” he replied dryly.

“Then I believe it’s impolite to stare,” she said, recalling a prior conversation of theirs.

“Ah, forgive me,” he said, looking away then. He gripped the pommel of his sword absently, toying with the leather wrappings around the hilt. He cleared his throat, trying to change the subject. “Did you get a chance to talk to Dorian?”

“Yes,” she said, crossing her arms over her breasts. “He’s confused, and tormented, and now Bull’s complicated the whole thing by kissing him, of all things.” She rolled her eyes. “Those two, sometimes. There’s more sexual tension there than between Varric and Cassandra.”

“What?” Cullen asked sharply.

“Oh, don’t tell me you can’t sense it,” she said, laughing. He paused, thinking, and slowly his face shifted from an expression of confusion to understanding. She smirked. “See what I mean?”

“They’ll never do anything about it,” he grinned.

“Not unless someone pushes them into it,” she agreed. “And tells Bianca to fuck off.”

He snorted at that. “I pity the man given that job,” he said flatly. He raised an eyebrow at her then. “And you think Bull and Dorian are in the same kind of… situation?”

“Oh, it’s obvious,” she said, waving a hand. She paused then, intent on his bemused expression. “You really haven’t gotten a… a vibe or anything, from then?” He shook his head. “Huh. Maybe it’s just me.”

He moved to stand beside her. “Explain it to me,” he said. “What have you observed?”

She swallowed thickly, his presence muddling her thoughts. He’d never stood quite so close to her before – shoulders and hips touching lightly, his warmth radiating towards her. She could… she could smell him; it was unique to his person, smelling of soap, something spicy, and something very distinctly male. She had to fight to suppress the arousal she felt pooling in her belly.

“They’ve… always danced around each other, trading insults and jibes,” she replied. “But they’re never serious about it. They don’t intend to hurt the other.”

“You and Dorian do that, but I don’t see the two of you crawling into bed together,” he chuckled.

“It’s entirely different,” Evelyn said, shaking her head. “I’m not… flirting with Dorian. It’s more… teasing? I’m not sure of the right word. But it’s different. We all know Dorian isn’t interested in anything with a-” She cut off herself off, flushing; had she really been going to say _that_ to Cullen? Certainly not!

“With a what?” he asked. He was looking down at her knowingly, but she shook her head, refusing to say the word. She could say it to Dorian – but not to Cullen. It was embarrassing. He smirked. “Are you… are you embarrassed?”

“No!” she snapped. She attempted to scowl at him, but given the condition of her flaming cheeks, she was afraid it wasn’t half so menacing as she’d have wished.

He bent down towards her face, smirk deepening. “I think you are,” he murmured. “Very… very… embarrassed.” With each word, he leaned a little closer to her, until his face was scant inches from hers. A gasp caught in her throat, and for a moment, she was afraid to breathe.

“I…”

He blinked at her. “Yes?”

She was a coward.

She turned away from him, stepping back from the war table. “I should go,” she said quickly. “There’s much to do before we leave.”

He chuckled. “As you say,” he replied. He paused then, as if waiting to see if she would flee from his presence. When she didn’t, he continued, “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She peeked a glance up at him. The smirk was gone, replaced with the earnest, open expression she’d only seen on occasion. “You didn’t,” she said slowly. “Not… not really.”

“Then… what were you going to say?”

Could she say it? Could she say something like that to the Commander with a straight face? She wasn’t sure. But she wanted to – a big part of her wanted to see his reaction. Would he flush? Would he lick his lips hungrily at the very mention of such a thing?

He was stepping closer to her again, his scent once again flooding her senses. She watched him this time, eyed him as he approached. He stopped not six inches from her, waiting for her response.

“I was going to say,” she murmured, “That Dorian isn’t interested in anything with a cunt.” She raised her eyes to his as she spoke the last word. His eyes darkened, and she saw his jaw clench once, twice. He took an involuntary step closer to her, a hand reaching for her hip. His touch was like fire on her, despite the layers of leather and cloth between them.

“He’s not,” Cullen confirmed.

She raised a hand, laying it gently on the arm that grasped her waist. His fingers tightened on her, sending a little thrill through her. “Do you…” she broke off, licking lips that had suddenly gone dry, “Do you know anyone who would be interested?” She couldn't believe she was saying this, but now that she'd found the strength to do so, she found she couldn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth.

“In general?” he asked. His voice was low and sensual, and it sent a fresh stab of lust through her. “Or interested in _yours_?”

She groaned, throwing caution to the wind as she reached to grab the back of his neck and –

They jerked apart as the door to the war room burst open. Evelyn felt her face suffuse with heat, hands flying to her face instinctively to try and hide. Josephine stood there with a bewildered look on her face. She looked from Cullen to Evelyn several times before giving them a knowing smirk. She hit it tactfully behind her writing board.

“I’m sorry to intrude, Inquisitor, Commander,” she said lightly. “I left a missive in here that I need.”

“Of course,” Evelyn said quickly, stepping out of the way of the table.

Josephine quickly retrieved the paper she needed before slipping out of the room, shutting the door easily behind her.

_Oh, sod it all!_

Evelyn deflated, turning to Cullen. He looked as sheepish as she felt, rubbing the back of his neck, the tips of his ears tinged pink. “I should return to the men,” he said quietly. “They will need to start packing up their gear.”

“Yes, they will,” she said quickly.

“I will need to pack my things as well.”

“You’re coming?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Of course,” he said easily. “I would not ask someone else to lead the assault on Adamant. It my duty as the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces.”

But of course he would. Who else would lead their forces? Her? The idea was a laughable one; she’d never led troops before in her life. She didn’t have any military experience whatsoever. Of course Cullen would be coming along to lead their soldiers!

“Does that surprise you?” he asked slowly.

“I just hadn’t thought about it,” she said quickly. She snorted. “But of course you’ll be there. Everyone will be.”

“I will see to it that you can reach Clarel,” he continued. “The Wardens must be stopped.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She hesitated then, unsure of what to do. He seemed uncertain as well, the indecision clear on his face. He took a step towards her then, but she backed away, putting a hand up. “I should let you return to your duties,” she said. “I’ve taken enough of your time already.”

She fled, unable to bear the heated torment in his eyes.

She ran down the hall back to her quarters, intent on getting to safety.

She could have sworn that she heard him sigh.

* * * * *

“You _what_?” Dorian demanded.

Cullen hushed his friend, scowling at him. “Keep your voice down!” he snapped. He looked around the hall, shooting daggers at anyone who had dared to look their way with a curious gaze. He knew he should’ve taken this conversation somewhere more… private. But Dorian had insisted on the mess hall, saying he hadn’t eaten all day.

“Oh, fine,” the mage replied, rolling his eyes. He leaned forward over the table, his bowl of soup in his hands so that his clothing wouldn’t drag in it. “But… are you being serious?”

“Of course I’m serious!” Cullen snapped. “Maker’s breath, why would I lie about this?”

“I would never accuse you of lying,” Dorian said quickly. “But you’re not above delusions. Not yet.”

“This wasn’t a delusion,” Cullen insisted. “I was… perhaps a bit more forward than I normally am with her, and she almost kissed me!”

“But what happened?” Dorian demanded. “Why didn’t you finish the deed?”

Cullen broke off with a sigh. “Josephine walked in on us,” he muttered.

“I see,” the mage said quietly. He paused for a moment, bringing a spoonful of soup to his lips. “That would dampen the mood a bit.” He cocked his head to the side. “Have you gone and spoken with Evelyn?”

“She ran off as soon as she possibly could,” Cullen replied bitterly. He wondered again why she’d done that – had she been afraid? Embarrassed? She’d been as red as a tomato; he thought the latter more likely. Was she embarrassed of being seen with him? Or just at getting caught by Josephine? He hoped that it was the second of the two. Though why she would be embarrassed by him he didn’t understand. He wasn’t the most handsome man in Thedas, but he wasn’t ugly – certainly not.

“Ah, yes, that does sound like Evelyn,” Dorian agreed, sitting back a bit. “She tends to startle easily when cornered.”

“Well, do you have any suggestions as to what I should do?”

“Give her time,” the mage suggested. “She’ll come around. She hates being embarrassed, so if she feels like she’s been mortified, she’ll skulk around for a few hours. Lay low. Like a kicked puppy.”

“Why would anyone kick a puppy?” Cullen demanded. “That’s terrible.”

Dorian sighed. “It’s just a phrase!” he snapped. “Of course I’d never kick a puppy! That would be the height of rudeness!”

“I’ve seen you kick mabari hounds out of the way,” Cullen interjected, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Wha – there’s a world of difference between the two!” Dorian said heatedly, brows snapping down into a frown. “A puppy is a small, cute, cuddly pile of fur! A mabari hound is a slobbering, smelling, mischievous lout of a creature who will as soon shit in your shoes as look as you!”

“… are you still upset over that incident at Haven?”

“Forgive me, Commander, for still attempting to determine who let the dogs out!”

Cullen shook his head, unable to stop the fond smile that crossed his face. Oh, Dorian. He was the only man who would’ve thought to bring silk slippers to a military encampment like Haven, and then expect the slippers to remain intact. Especially when there were dogs around.

He looked up at his friend then. Dorian had gone back to eating his soup, though the sour look remained on his face. Cullen had to suppress a snort. Only Dorian would be so petulant about something so small that had happened almost half a year ago. Maybe he should buy the other a pair of silk slippers just to get him to stop talking about their absence.

Maybe.

“So how’s it been going with _your_ problem of late?” he asked, trying to get Dorian’s mind off the subject.

Dorian sighed dramatically. “Oh, my dear Commander, if only you knew the half of it,” he murmured.

Cullen blinked, frowning. “Well that was why I asked,” he said. “To learn the half of it.”

“He came and spoke to me again,” the mage continued. “He wanted… oh, kaffas, he said that he wanted a repeat encounter.”

It was unlike Dorian to curse. It was easy to fluster the man, easy to annoy him, but he didn’t truly get angry very often. For him to be using Tevene curse words was an indication of how befuddled his thoughts on the matter really were. “What did you tell him?” he asked slowly.

“That I would think about it.”

“And?” Cullen persisted. Dorian raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you?”

“I’ve given the matter entirely too much thought,” Dorian muttered. “And I’ve still not come to a conclusion.” He shook his head before shooting Cullen a sad look. “It’s been wearing at my sleep pattern. I’m starting to develop dark circles underneath my eyes! It’s terrible!”

Cullen snorted. “Welcome to the club,” he said, motioning at the dark circles he knew were ever-present underneath his own eyes.

“You can pull them off though!” Dorian said, waving a hand at his face. “You have that rugged warrior look! I, however, cannot, and will not abide by this! I was not meant to look so… so weary!”

“The horror,” Cullen agreed, smirking.

Dorian shot him a disdainful look. “Don’t you need to be off yelling at some soldiers?” he asked, his voice acidic.

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Cullen agreed, pushing himself up from the table. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re _so_ very welcome.”

“Until next time, Dorian.”

“Indeed.”

* * * * *

“Are you alright?”

Evelyn looked down at Varric, riding next to her on his silver pony. The animal’s coat shone in the moonlight, like cool steel. Her own gelding was bay, the deep brown fur seeming to drink in the light instead of reflecting it.

“Of course,” she replied easily. The dwarf raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, and she sighed. “Alright. I’m worried about what we’ll find at Adamant. I’m concerned that we won’t be able to convince Clarel to stop the rituals. I fear that we’re going to lose many men. But other than that, I’m perfectly alright.”

“Just another day in the Inquisition, huh?” he joked.

She smiled back at him. “Are _you_ alright?” she asked in turn. “Hawke’s kind of been in the middle of all of this…”

“Hawke can handle himself,” Varric said quietly. “And he feels he’s invested in this. Since, you know, we’re the ones who originally found Corypheus. And killed him.”

She shook her head. “I’d still like to know how he managed to come back,” she murmured.

“You and me both, Tits.”

She snorted at the nickname, remembering her earlier conversation with Hawke. She had no doubt that the mage could take care of himself; he’d been doing so for years, after all. But Hawke was just one man, and before he hadn’t been alone in his actions. Regardless of what Varric said, she worried about the Champion.

“So, you ever gonna mention what’s going on between you and Curly?”

Evelyn looked sharply at the dwarf, who was innocently inspecting a mark on his saddle. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Don’t play shy with me,” he warned, smirking over at her. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you two.”

“But we haven’t done anything!”

“Not yet,” he agreed. “But you will.”

Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “Why’re you so sure?”

He snorted. “Have you seen the way Curly looks at you?” he asked. “When a man looks at a woman that way, it means only one thing. He’s a goner.”

“And you know that how?”

He shot her an affronted look. “I’m a purveyor of romance, Tits!” he replied. “It’s kind of my job to know these things!”

“But how does he look at me?” she persisted.

“Like…” Varric trailed off, a hand to his chin as he thought of what to say. “He looks at you like a starving man. A starving man who’s just had the most exquisite, delicious meal he’s ever seen plated in front of him.”

“So… he wants to eat me?”

“Figuratively, of course.”

“Varric!”

“What?” The dwarf held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Don’t shoot the messenger!”

Despite the embarrassment his words had caused, she couldn’t help but be a bit pleased by them. Was that how Cullen looked at her? She could never tell; she was always too busy admiring the planes and angles of his face, the scar on his lip, the ochre of his eyes. To think that such a handsome man would want her that way…

She shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cool night air.

“Just be careful, alright, Tits?”

Evelyn looked over at Varric. “What?”

“Curly’s been through a lot,” Varric continued. “And you know he’s still fighting his demons – literally, this time. I’m not gonna tell you what to do; you’re an adult, and you’ve proven you’re plenty capable of making hard decisions. But I wouldn’t get involved with the man unless you’re in for the long haul.

“Curly’s never been anything less than a romantic,” he said. “He may not look it, but he is.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s a sense we have,” the dwarf explained. “We sensitive romantic types can sniff each other out.”

Evelyn snorted. “Assessing the competition?” she asked slyly.

“Have you seen my chest hair?” Varric asked. “There’s no competition. Curly’s just a boy compared to me!”

That had Evelyn laughing. Soon, their conversation shifted into something much lighter. They talked late into the night, until they finally stopped to camp just after the midnight hour. She was weary to the bone, and crawled into the tent she was sharing with Cassandra without so much as a word. The Seeker seemed to be of a similar mind; she didn’t even pull out a book to read before she collapsed onto her bedroll.

Despite how late they’d stopped to make camp, they rose early. Evelyn wearily donned her leathers and saddled her horse in the dawn light, preparing for another hard day’s travel. Luckily, they were planning on stopping at Griffon Wing Keep for the night. She relished the opportunity to sleep somewhere with walls.

She rode alone that day, Varric having gone back in the line to pester Cassandra. She could hear the two of them bickering about the latest edition of _Swords & Shields._ Cassandra was continuing to insist that it wasn’t smutty enough, and Varric maintained his position that even smutty literature needed a _little_ plot. She had to shake her head at the two of them. Unresolved sexual tension, indeed.

“Might I have a word?”

Evelyn started at Cullen’s voice. He’d drawn his great chestnut stallion over to her horse, though he kept the creature a bit aloof. The stallion was known for biting. “Of course,” she said quickly. Was this about the other day? She’d avoided him since. It hadn’t been her best move, but she hadn’t known what else to do. What to say.

“Have you ever been part of a protracted siege?”

She blinked at the unexpected question. “No,” she admitted. “Unless you count Haven.”

He snorted. “Well, this time, we’ll be the ones outside the walls,” he said, grinning at her. “So it’s a bit different.” His face sobered then. “Sieges are nasty business. A good fortress can go for months under siege before they run out of supplies. We’re very lucky that Adamant is old and crumbling, and that the Wardens aren’t there for cover.”

“It will take months to break through the walls?”

“No,” he replied. “Adamant was built before modern siege equipment – trebuchets, catapults, that sort of thing. We shouldn’t have an issue in punching through the defenses. Once we’re inside though, it’ll become a massive melee at the entry point. They’ll likely throw every foot soldier that have at us to stem the tide once we’re inside the walls.”

“Which will take valuable time,” she surmised.

“Exactly,” he agreed. “Time that you don’t have, if you are to get to Clarel and stop this madness. Leliana managed to find some old maps of Adamant before we left Skyhold. I have been studying them, and I believe I have an answer to our problem.”

“What’s your idea?”

“The main gate is very big, and easily defensible,” he explained. “I have no doubt that there will be a large force of archers and mages lining the walls near the gate to dissuade us from trying to enter there. But while the gate is large, it’s also made of wood instead of metal.” He paused, his expression very serious. “We should be able to batter it down relatively quickly. Once inside, there’s a courtyard that we will have to control. After that, you can lead a small relief force to the inner defenses. Clarel will be there.”

“You’ll be a distraction,” Evelyn said, his idea clicking into place in her mind. It was a good plan, she thought. Not for nothing had Cassandra gone to Cullen for aid with the Inquisition’s military. “It’s a good plan.”

“It has its drawbacks,” he said ruefully. He shot her a strange look then; it looked almost… sad. She frowned. “I will have to stay back with the men; they’ll need my aid in holding the courtyard. Rylen will be working separately, using ladders to scale the walls. You will be on your own.”

“I’ve been on my own for many missions before this, Cullen,” she said quietly.

“This isn’t the same,” he insisted. “I don’t know how many Wardens are inside those walls! Their numbers have varied wildly in the reports Leliana’s scouts have managed to obtain.” He shook his head. “These aren’t just your average foot soldiers. They’re Grey Wardens, Evelyn. This will be very dangerous.” He sighed, fisting his reins angrily. “I won’t be able to protect you.”

“Cullen-”

“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t ‘Cullen’ me. I know very well that you don’t need protection. You’re very capable of defending yourself, and you’ll have others along with you. Maker, I know that.” This last seemed to be directed more at himself than her. “But humor me.” He looked back up at her then, and she was startled by the intensity of the emotions she saw in the depths of his leonine eyes. “After Haven, I promised myself that I’d never let something like that happen to you again. I would never let you be the bait. At least, not until the final battle with Corypheus. That’s what I told myself.”

He sighed. “And now, here we are. The outcome of this wholly depends on you, and your ability to fight through a castle full of demons and Grey Wardens.” He snorted. “I should stop making promises. The Maker seems to have a sense of humor in never letting me keep them.”

She was touched by his concern; she wasn’t sure it was entirely justified, but it still warmed her heart to know that he was struggling with this.

She nudged her gelding a bit closer to Cullen’s horse, reaching out to put a hand on his bracer. “Cullen,” she said softly, “I appreciate your concern. But… this is my duty. I’m the only one who can do it. You must let me do this.”

He gave her a sardonic smile that went straight to her core. “I’ve told myself that,” he admitted. “Multiple times.” He shook his head. “But I can’t help it.”

“I’ll try to be careful, if that makes you feel any better.”

He snorted. “You? Careful?” he asked teasingly. “That’ll be the day.”

She playfully punched him in the arm, and he laughed at her feeble attempt. They continued to banter for the better part of an hour until Cullen was called back to read a report from one of Rylen’s scouts. Neither of them noticed how Varric and Cassandra were watching like hawks from farther back in the line.

“So obvious,” Cassandra huffed.

“Completely,” Varric agreed.

“He should just tell her how he feels,” the Seeker continued.

Varric snorted. “So should she,” he replied, sticking up for Cullen. “They’re both blind as a bat.”

“Entirely.”

“… you know, Seeker, that may be the first thing we’ve ever agreed upon!”

Cassandra smirked at him. “It’s not the first,” she disagreed.

“Then what was?”

Her eyes twinkled with suppressed amusement. “You’ll never know, dwarf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, they WILL kiss sooner or later! I'm not that cruel!
> 
> This was a bit of a more serious chapter, but I gotta advance that plot along somehow, right? It's a bit longer too :) 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! I appreciate all your kind comments and the kudos :) They mean the world to me!


	10. The Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another longer, serious chapter here! I'm changing a few of the tags too. I know I originally said "No Angst" (and I still don't think any of my stories qualify as really angsty lol since I'm not very good at writing it) but there is some angst in this chapter. It's normal, DA:I plot-related angst, but it's still angst. I have to move the plot along somehow, involve some actual Bioware stuff. Can't all be smut. Sorry! :o
> 
> Also - some minor canon divergence here. Nothing major. I just don't like repeating the dialogue verbatim from the game.

Evelyn hit the ground with a soft thump, the wind knocked from her lungs.

Opening her eyes, a strange sight met her eyes – green. So much green. The sky was an eerie shade of viridian, noxious swirling clouds obscuring the sun. But was there a sun? She couldn’t see any source of light, or any shadows.

She pushed herself to her feet, looking at her surroundings. The area was desolate, nothing but black craggy rock and dank pools of standing water. The faint reek of sulfur hung in the air, burning her nostrils.

“Where are we?”

Evelyn looked up to see Stroud standing perpendicular to the ground along a column of rock. He was looking at his feet in wonder. She felt a strange sense of detachment as she looked at him, much less perturbed than she should have been at seeing a man standing on a vertical plane.

“This must be the Fade,” came another voice. Evelyn turned, recognizing Hawke opposite Stroud. He too was standing at an odd angle several feet above her. “Though it looks different than the last time I was here.”

“Great.” Evelyn whirled around to see Bull stalking towards her, his expression a mixture of loathing and… fear? “Ass deep in demon town.” He shook his head. “I didn’t sign up for this, boss.”

“We’re in the Fade?” she asked softly. She looked around; she’d never been here before, not with any sort of consciousness. She was no mage. She wondered absently why Solas was so keen on coming here. It seemed a lonely, despairing place, especially compared to the world of the living.

“So it would seem,” Cassandra spoke. Her voice was as calm and assured as ever, but her body language betrayed her. Brown eyes shifted in every direction, looking for enemies that had yet to appear, and her grip on her sword was tight, knuckles ridged with white. “Though I do not know how.”

“Amazing,” Dorian breathed in wonder. He stepped a few feet out from them, looking up at the sky. Evelyn had to suppress a snort; _of course_ Dorian would find this place enchanting. “To think, we are walking where ancient magisters once dreamed to tread…”

“Yes, and that turned out _so_ well,” Cassandra snapped. “We should not be here.”

“How did we get here?” Dorian asked, nodding. He turned to Evelyn. “You. You… did something.”

Evelyn looked down at the mark on her hand; its pulsing seemed less strange here. In fact it seemed… almost normal; the thought chilled her. “I must have opened a rift as we were falling,” she replied, clenching her hand into a fist. She looked up and around, but saw no signs of an active rift. It must have closed after them.

“Saving us from a grueling death at the hands of merciless gravity,” Hawke snorted, jumping down to the ground. He walked over to join their small group, looking around warily. “We must find a way out. It’s not safe here.”

“There.” Stroud pointed to a large, churning rift across the distant landscape. Evelyn blinked in surprise – how had she not noticed it before? It was huge, looming ominously over the area. Larger than any rift she’d ever seen. “Can we get out that way?”

“I don’t know,” Evelyn said truthfully. She took a few steps forward, peering off into the distance. Hopefully that was the way to go; she had no others ideas on how to escape from this dreadful place. She looked over her shoulder at her companions. “But there’s only one way to find out – and I’d rather not sit here waiting for something to find us.” Cassandra and Hawke nodded in agreement.

“Let it come,” Bull muttered. He gripped the handle of his great axe a little more tightly. “I’ll bash their fucking heads in.”

Evelyn looked at the Qunari warily. He seemed very agitated; she supposed that made sense. Qunari supposedly feared magic, so much so that they virtually enslaved their mages. But it was different from the southern fear of magic; in Ostwick, those who had denounced mages had done so with religious fervor, fearing what they did not understand. They had feared the power magic users had over those without magic, despite having Templars to protect them. But Bull…

Bull seemed terrified.

It unsettled her, seeing one of her staunchest companions riddled with fear. As she set out on what looked somewhat like a path, she had to agree with his assessment of the Fade. Her body was humming with nervous energy, senses on alert for the slightest of movements lest they be caught unawares. She didn’t like it either, and was eager to leave.

That proved easier said than done. A helpful spirit wearing the face of the late Divine soon appeared, explaining to her that they were in the realm of a demon known only as the Nightmare. It had taken Evelyn’s memories from her, and if she wanted them back, she would have to defeat its lackeys. The first wraiths were easy enough to kill, but the knowledge that they had given her was deeply unsettling.

Wardens had helped Corypheus take the Divine hostage. Evelyn had walked in on them performing some kind of sacrificial ritual. She’d stolen Corypheus’ orb, the anchor, and been blasted into the Fade. And then the Divine had given up her own life so that Evelyn might live.

She could hear Stroud and Hawke behind her, arguing over the Wardens’ culpability in the disastrous Conclave. She whirled about angrily and told them to stop bickering, that they could settle their differences later. Preferably outside the Fade. They’d both given her surly glares, but had seen the logic in her words.

And so they had pressed on, journeying deeper into the Fade as they battled the various denizens of Nightmare. Evelyn shrank back from the spiders in fear; she’d always hated spiders, with their spindly little legs and black, bulbous eyes. She took joy in sending arrows into their faces, a sentiment Bull seemed to share. Even the skeletal deepstalkers were better, and that was saying something.

They finally reached a clearing overlooking what appeared to be a lake. She cautiously led them down to the water’s edge, being careful not to step into any deep pools as they moved. Frightening enough things lurked in the water in the waking world; she didn’t want to know what could be lurking in Fade water.

Something in the distance caught her eye, and she began to make her way towards it despite Bull's grumbling about heading off the path. After ambushing several despair demons, they finally reached a small graveyard. Perplexed, she took a step forward. Who would be buried here? This wasn't the realms of the dead. In the middle of the plot was a large tombstone, a monument towering above the other smaller grave markers. She froze when she saw her own name scribbled across the bottom. Beneath that was one more word – failure.

Her greatest fear.

“Maker,” Cassandra breathed from beside her, staring down at the stones. There was one for each of them, Evelyn noticed – one for every member of her inner circle. Each gravestone was emblazoned with a name, and beneath that, a word or phrase detailing that person’s deepest fear.

For once, not even Dorian could find the humor in such a thing. He coldly stared down at the tombstone with his name on it. She was tempted to talk to him about it, assure him that this wasn’t reality, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. How was this not real? This foul demon knew their darkest secrets and deepest fears, and it was using that against them.

This was altogether _too_ real.

They pushed on, strength waning as they continued fighting the lesser demons that Nightmare threw at them. The spirit of the Divine led them ever onward, deeper into the bowels of the soaring peak that the rift was atop. Evelyn began to worry that they would never reach the end, that they would instead by stuck in this writhing green madness forever.

But at last they came to the nightmare demon. It took all their effort to fight the thing back. Evelyn knew she’d broken a few ribs and pulled a muscle in her groin from dodging the thing’s claws. Her companions looked no better. Cassandra had taken a shallow head wound that was bleeding profusely, blood streaming down her face and obscuring her vision. A spider had snuck up on Hawke and bitten him savagely in the leg, leaving a gaping puncture wound that needed tending. Bull and Stroud looked no better, and Dorian's robes were singed. 

Just as she thought she could take no more, the demon was dead. She’d rushed to her companions in relief, throwing healing potions at them from her belt. They’d accepted gratefully, and she’d gone to study the rift, intent on getting them back.

And then the worst happened.

The giant spider that the spirit of the Divine had chased off returned with a vengeance, blocking their escape. Dismayed, Evelyn had tried to come up with other options – but what was there to do? How could they defeat such a monstrous demon? They’d had enough trouble with the small version of Nightmare.

“I will stay,” Hawke said suddenly, grabbing his staff with purpose.

“No!” Evelyn cried out instantly.

“Someone will have to cover your escape!” Hawke snapped; he turned to look at her, eyes beseeching, pleading her to understand. “You cannot die in here. You’re needed out there.”

“So are you!” she’d snapped. How would she explain to Varric that she’d let the Champion of Kirkwall die? How would she bear the sad gaze he gave her? She couldn’t do it. But what choice did they have? Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“No,” Stroud said suddenly. All eyes were on him as he stepped forward. “Let me.” He looked up at the demon and scowled at it. “The Grey Wardens were the ones who let Corypheus kill the divine. It seems only fair that I remain to kill his servant.”

“But you must rebuild the Wardens!” Hawke protested. “No one has your rank!”

“There is one!” Stroud turned, fixing Evelyn with a serious gaze. “ _You_ must help them – punish them if you must, but please! Help us rebuild! There are good men and women there – they will find the strength to recover from this.”

“Stroud!”

The Grey Warden ignored the Champion, his eyes fixed on Evelyn. “Please do this,” he said quietly, begging. “For the Wardens.”

Was this the right thing to do? Evelyn started as the monstrous, hulking spider took a step closer to them. There was no time – she hadn’t a moment to lose, and a monumental decision to make. She pulled at her hair in frustration, trying to decide which of the two men to leave behind, wishing desperately that she didn’t have to choose.

“Evelyn,” Dorian said warningly.

“I know!” she snapped.

Hawke, or Stroud? The Champion or the Warden!

“Boss…”

“Stroud!” The cry was torn from her lips unconsciously, and for a moment there was silence. The consequences of her decision seemed to press down on her, and she felt her chest tighten in response.

She lurched forward, laying a shaking hand on Stroud’s arm. “I promise,” she choked out, nodding and hoping that he took her meaning.

His eyes warmed in that last second, and he nodded. He looked to the spidery demon then, and his eyes hardened. He held his sword before him, face stony, and jumped forward. “For the Grey Wardens!” he cried, lunging forward to hack at the thing’s legs. It let out a piteous cry, but Stroud took no comfort in the sound, dashing forward to stab the creature’s underbelly.

Evelyn couldn’t help but take a step forward, readying an arrow – how could she not help him? But Hawke was pulling on her arm then, dragging her back towards the rift. She cried out for him to stop, and he silenced her with a sad stare. “We must leave, or his sacrifice will have been for nothing!” he said.

She knew he was right. She led the charge as they ran towards the rift; she pushed her companions through first, taking one final look back at Stroud before she jumped through the rift and into the darkness.

She fell to the flagstones with a gasp, knocking her knees painfully. Cassandra was at her side, pulling her to her feet. She took the help gratefully, staggering around despite her broken ribs digging painfully into her side. She reached up towards the rift, yanking on the broken threads of the Veil and remaking them whole. The rift resisted at first, but she eventually bent it to her will, snapping it out of existence.

Dorian immediately moved to her side as she sagged, and she clutched at him gratefully. Now that the immediate danger was gone, the adrenaline was fading from her body, leaving her tired and aching. “Don’t faint on me just yet,” he whispered in her ear, keeping a tight hold on her elbow. “I believe you have questions to answer.”

“Bugger their questions,” she snapped. That earned her a chuckle.

“Are you going to tell them that, or should I?”

Evelyn sighed and allowed him to help her turn around. A lone Grey Warden had stepped forward, looking over their party. “Where is Warden Stroud?” he asked quietly, removing his helmet. Evelyn felt her heart twist painfully in her chest when she heard the mention of Stroud’s name. This poor boy… he had to be even younger than her. And she’d gone and sacrificed the only man capable of leading them.

She swallowed to ease the thickness in her throat. “Warden Stroud died attacking an instrument of the Blight,” she replied. Her voice was surprisingly firm as she spoke. “He sacrificed himself so that the rest of us could escape.”

“But what will we do now?” the boy Warden asked. He shook his head. “We haven’t any senior Wardens left!”

“Yes, you killed them all in an asinine blood magic ritual,” Hawke snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. He was glaring daggers at the young Warden, who stepped back in the face of Hawke’s acrimony.

Evelyn sighed. “Hawke,” she murmured. The mage glanced over at her, and raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t wrong, and she wasn’t going to argue with him. But angry words wouldn’t do any of them any good. He seemed to realize this as well and walked away to the edge of the ramparts, staring down at the wreckage of Adamant.

She returned her attention to the Wardens. “It was Warden Stroud’s last wish that the remaining Grey Wardens of Orlais join the Inquisition,” she said, looking amongst their ranks to gauge their reactions. “There is much to do to rebuild the Order; the Inquisition is as stable a place as any to do so.”

“The Inquisition will take us?” an older female Warden asked, stepping forward. “After… after everything?”

“Yes,” Evelyn replied firmly.

Cassandra pulled on her arm sharply. “After _everything_?” she whispered to Evelyn, her voice harsh. “What they did-”

“Was a serious offense,” Evelyn said, finishing the other woman’s sentence. Cassandra pulled back a little, hesitating. “I understand, Cassandra, and I don’t think they should go unpunished. But neither should they leave to walk Orlais unattended and vulnerable to Corypheus’ corruption.” She paused, returning her gaze to the Wardens; they were all staring at her with some mixture of hope and trepidation. She sighed. “Besides. I promised Stroud.”

“That you did,” the Seeker allowed.

And a promise was a promise. She never went back on her promises.

* * * * *

Dorian stared pensively into the fire, ignoring the bustle around him as the Inquisition’s healers tended to the wounded.

It had been a largely successful battle – many of the Grey Wardens had been saved from a terrible fate, Corypheus’ lackey, Nightmare, had been defeated, and Evelyn had managed to take yet another world weary group under her wing. He should have been celebrating, drinking something very strong over a bowl of something hot. But he wasn’t. They weren’t. No one was.

The trip to the Fade was weighing heavily on him. He’d been there before, of course, but only in his dreams. He had had that advantage over most everyone else. Before tonight, he would have considered such an opportunity amazing. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He looked up as the Iron Bull sat down next to him with a grunt. The Qunari looked about how Dorian felt – dejected, tired, and not a little bit disconcerted. He had brought a skin of wine with him.

“Temptation,” he said quietly, not looking at Dorian as he spoke. “That’s an odd fear.”

Dorian snorted. “Is it?” he replied.

Bull opened the wineskin and took a long drink before handing it Dorian. The mage hesitated only a moment before accepting it and taking a drink himself. It was a terrible vintage, so acidic that it stung his throat, but he found it strangely appropriate in this odd moment.

“My world is full of temptation,” Dorian said quietly, staring at the flames as they consumed the logs. He felt rather than saw Bull turn to look at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact. “Tevinter is a cesspool of temptation – sex, money, magic, _blood_ … do you know how hard it is to resist such pitfalls? To not be like every other person you’ve ever known, every other person who doesn’t question a damn thing about society at large?” He snorted, shaking his head. What a ridiculous question to ask a Qunari – the Qun didn’t allow for questions. People in Tevinter didn’t ask questions because they didn’t like facing the harsh reality of the answers. The people of the Qun didn’t ask questions because they didn’t even see the _need_ to ask.

“I think I understand that better than most,” Bull replied. Dorian raised an eyebrow at him. “What, you think it’s easy living away from the Qun? Do you think it’s easy having my worldviews, the philosophy I’ve known from birth, contradicted at every step of the way?” Bull snorted. “I question everything. And I hate it.”

Dorian hadn’t considered that. To his surprise, shame came over him; he’d just assumed that Bull wouldn’t have possibly known how he felt. In retrospect, Bull was probably the _only_ person who knew what it felt like.

“I’m vaguely terrified of becoming like everyone else I've ever known,” Dorian admitted, taking another swig of wine. He wrinkled his nose at the taste and handed it back to Bull, who took several long swallows. Dorian was impressed at the feat.

“Maybe it’s not such an odd fear, after all,” Bull admitted, chuckling to himself.

“Do you still follow the Qun?” Dorian asked then. He was surprised at how receptive Bull was being to the conversation, and he was willing to risk a further question. “You have to admit, it doesn’t look like you do.”

“That’s the point,” Bull said flatly. He sighed, resting an arm on a knee so that he could prop his chin up. He stared into the fire for a moment, the reflected flames dancing in his eye. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t what Dorian was expecting. “Madness.”

“…I don’t know what to make of that.”

“I fear madness,” Bull repeated. “The Qun teaches that those of us who have lost our way go mad. Lust, power, greed… it doesn’t matter what form the insanity takes. It just comes and steal away the part of you that makes you _you_. It leaves you Tal-Vashoth. I need the Qun.”

“Because you fear that will happen to you?” Dorian asked. "You'll go mad?"

“I fear it’s already begun.”

“You’re an oaf, but I’d hardly call you a raging bull,” Dorian said lightly, attempting to lighten the mood.

“My betters already see me in danger of violating the Qun,” Bull persisted.

Dorian turned to face Bull more directly. “Why do you let them decide how you follow your own philosophy?” he asked.

“Why do you let your Chantry tell you what to do?” Bull retorted.

“No one wearing a _frock_ has ever told me what to do,” Dorian huffed.

“Then you don’t believe in the Maker?”

“Of course I believe in the Maker,” the mage replied. “But why do I have to believe in _their_ Maker? Do you think I believe everything these southern fanatics have to say? I’d have to hate myself in order to believe them. I’d have to believe I was a terrible, evil sinner to be born a mage; I’d have to believe it was my sacred duty to chain myself up in a Circle.” He shook his head.

“Do you have a point?” Bull snapped. He took another long drink of the wine.

“Yes,” Dorian snapped back, frowning. “The point is that nothing has only one interpretation, Bull. For your betters to claim they have the only true view on something is ridiculous!”

“There is only one Qun,” Bull said stubbornly.

“And there is only one Andraste, but Tevinter sees her very differently from Ferelden,” Dorian pointed out. He paused, sizing up the Qunari’s mood. “Having doubts doesn’t lead to madness.”

“And seeing pretty things doesn’t lead to temptation,” Bull shot back.

“Of course not.” Dorian looked down at his lap; he rubbed absently at a scorch mark on his robes. “Perhaps we might help each other with our problems, considering how similar they seem to be.”

“You think?”

Dorian snorted. “I’m a much better listener than people give me credit for,” he admitted.

Their eyes met then, and something passed between them: a spark, perhaps, or a wisp of a flame. Whatever it was, Dorian felt it ripple across his skin. Bull held out the wineskin, and he took it.

“This is a surprisingly civil conversation,” Dorian said, chancing a smirk at the other.

“Give it a minute,” Bull snorted. “You’ll think of some smartass remark.”

“I’m afraid I’m all out of sarcasm,” Dorian sighed. “Our little sojourn into the Fade’s put me off my game.”

Bull said nothing, and merely reached for the wineskin again; he drained the last of its contents before looking at it disdainfully. “Damn thing’s out,” he muttered. He paused, and then looked over at Dorian. “What do you say we go and find another?” he asked slowly.

Dorian hesitated only a moment before nodding and pushing himself to his feet. He motioned for Bull to lead the way. They managed to find a few more skins before walking over to one of the tents that had been set up for their group. Hawke and Varric had settled into one, quietly talking about the events in the Fade, and Cassandra had taken another.

“Care to share a tent?” Bull asked. “I figured we’d let Boss have one to herself tonight.”

“What do you – ah, I see,” Dorian quickly corrected himself as he watched the Commander storm down a flight of steps, making a beeline for the tents. “Quick, get inside!” he said, pushing at the other.

Bull moved into the tent with a surprising amount of grace. Dorian flopped in after him. Just in time too – he could hear Cullen’s boots crunching on the cold, hard sand outside the area. “Evelyn’s in for it,” he whispered. “Did you see the look on Cullen’s face?”

“He’ll give it to her good,” Bull agreed, uncorking a skin. Dorian couldn’t tell if he was being serious or making a joke until his mouth pulled up into a smirk.

Dorian chuckled and picked up another skin, settling into one of the bedrolls to listen. Bull did the same, pulling closer to him so that he could eavesdrop better. At one point, Dorian would have protested the closeness, but after tonight’s events, he didn’t mind in the slightest.

He didn’t want to be alone tonight.

* * * * *

Cullen stormed into Evelyn’s tent, his mouth drawn into a firm line.

He couldn’t believe her – after the entire speech he’d prepared, telling her to watch herself! She’d even agreed to take it easy inside the fortress! Well, she’d at least said that she would be careful. But this…

Maker. Going into the Fade? _Physically_? The last time that had happened, the Tevinter magisters had Blighted the world. This time…

He’d felt as if he’d been stabbed in the gut when he saw her fall. His breath had caught in his throat, and there had been a roaring sensation in his ears as he’d watched her tumble off the battlements with Cassandra and the others. He’d taken no joy in the victory of the battle as the rest of the Wardens surrendered. It had all seemed rather empty to him.

And then the sky had flashed with green, and Solas had run up to tell them he’d felt a disturbance in the Veil. Evelyn had ripped through to the Fade, the elf had said, and protected her companions once again.

He shook his head bitterly, thinking of what to say to her. What could he say to her, after that? Maker…

She was asleep, her dark hair fanned out around her face. It was a fitful sleep, her breaths shallow and restless. The hand with the anchor twitched nervously; she kept curling and uncurling her fingers as she dreamt.

There were bandages around her torso, pulling her broken ribs in tight. She had been very lucky to have walked away from the Fade with only a few broken bones, cuts, and pulled muscles. It was more than could be said for Stroud.

Gently, he walked over and knelt by her cot. He removed the glove from his hand and smoothed her hair back. She was hot to his touch, feverish. He frowned; had a healer not seen to her? His fingers drifted down to a small cut below one of her eyes. But no – a healer would have fixed all of the superficial wounds. She must have denied herself healing magic so that others could be tended.

Cullen sighed. How typical of her.

The noise drew her from her sleep. She looked up at him blearily, a frown creasing her brow. “Cullen?” she asked thickly. She turned to the side slightly, hiding a yawn with a hand. She hissed as the movement jarred her broken bones.

“Shh,” he said quickly, grabbing her hand to still her. “Don’t move. You’ll puncture a lung if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll be fine,” she murmured sleepily. “Solas said…” She broke off into another yawn. “Solas said they weren’t bad breaks.”

“Solas also didn’t heal you, so he’s not very high on my good list at the moment,” Cullen said dryly.

“You have a good list?” she asked. She sounded more awake now. “Am I on it?”

“You fell off a tower and then opened a rift in the Fade, dragging yourself and your companions into it,” he said flatly. “After you promised you’d be careful. What do you think?”

“Then I guess you were right to call my bluff,” she said sheepishly. She chanced a smile up at him, and he couldn’t help but smile at her in return. He couldn’t be mad at her when he was still so very glad that she was alive.

For a moment, he’d thought that she wasn’t.

“We lost Stroud,” she murmured, gripping his hand a little tighter. He looked up; she was no longer looking at him, her eyes somewhere far away, misted over in pain. “I didn’t know what to do, Cullen. It was either him or Hawke. How was I supposed to choose?”

“It was an impossible choice,” he said firmly, trying to forestall the tears he knew were coming. He could hear them in her voice, see them in the quivering of her lips. “You cannot fret over these decisions, Evelyn. Never forget the weight of them, but do not let them consume you.”

She nodded, blinking fast to clear the wetness from her eyes. “I know,” she said quickly. “I know. It’s just… “ She sighed. “Hard.”

“At the very least, you made Varric a happy dwarf tonight. Happy that he didn’t lose another friend.”

She chuckled at that. “There’s that,” she agreed. She paused, looking up to him with those huge, jade eyes of her. “Are you mad at me?”

He snorted. Were you mad when the rainclouds poured on you? Did you get angry when the sun shone? He shook his head. “Oh, I’m livid,” he said, smirking. “But I’m also very, very happy that you’re alive, which mostly supersedes the anger.” He rose, placing her hand back on her blankets. “I should let you rest. We leave at first light.”

She caught at his hand as he made to leave. “Wait,” she said hesitantly. He stared down at her expectantly. She bit her lip, clearly torn.

“What is it?” he asked softly.

“Please stay,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Stay,” she said, louder this time. “Please.” She swallowed, a nervous flush tingeing her cheeks with pink. “Please stay with me tonight.”

“Evelyn-”

“I can’t take the nightmares alone.”

He couldn’t deny her that. All of his arguments fell into a heap around him, and he sighed. “Alright,” he said quietly, moving to fasten the tent shut. He knew what it was like to have bad dreams, and he wouldn’t force her to struggle with them alone, as he had done. It wasn’t fair. She already struggled with enough.

He began removing his armor, setting it into a neat pile on the floor. He could feel her eyes on him; normally, he would have found it uncomfortable, but instead it sent a wave of heat through him. He forced those thoughts away, mentally chastising himself. Now was not the time for that.

There was a spare bedroll near the back of the tent. He unrolled it and set it up near Evelyn’s cot. He couldn’t share the bed with her; he wasn’t a very neat sleeper, and he didn’t want to jostle her ribs. However much he wanted to hold her tight against him, to prove that she really had survived.

He settled into the bedroll with a sigh, grateful to be off his feet. He smiled when he felt Evelyn’s fumbling fingers searching for his own even as she tried to remain obediently still in bed. He lifted his hand with a smile, capturing their hands together.

“Thank you, Cullen,” he heard her whisper.

He was lost. He was well and truly lost. How had this happened so fast?

“You are most welcome, Evelyn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> As always, any feedback is most appreciated! :D


	11. The Approval

Evelyn didn’t return to Skyhold with the soldiers.

She had planned on it. She was even looking forward to it. Or at least, she was looking forward to the time spent recovering on the much slower trip back to Skyhold. And the time she would inevitably spend with Cullen. But something had come up, something that demanded her attention.

Maker, why did something _always_ come up?

Surprisingly, it had been Bull who had brought the matter to her attention. “Hey, Boss,” he’d remarked casually the morning after the trip to the Fade. “Got a minute?”

She’d been too tired to make a pithy remark, so she’d settled for a muffled, “Of course.”

“Got a report in from my superiors,” Bull had continued. “Ben-Hassrath orders.”

“Anything interesting?”

“They want to offer a formal alliance.”

 _That_ had woken her up. She’d looked at the Qunari sharply. “I didn’t think the Qunari made alliances with other nations.”

“Yeah, this would be the first time,” Bull confirmed. “But this shit with Corypheus – a giant hole in the sky, demons pouring out of rifts?” He’d shaken his head. “This is too much, even for them. They want to help stop the damn thing.”

It had struck her as odd – why now? The Breach had been looming overhead for months, and there had been no talk of an alliance between their peoples. Bull had assured her that it was because the Qunari were naturally cautious, waiting to see if the situation would resolve on its own. When it hadn’t, they’d been driven to action. Still suspicious, she’d asked if it could be a trap.

“Possibly,” Bull confirmed. “Won’t know unless we go though.”

She’d sighed and given it a moment’s thought before agreeing to travel to the Storm Coast. The Chargers, who had come to Adamant as a strike team, were coming with them, as well as Cassandra and Dorian. She’d given Bull the choice of who else to bring with them to the coast – Cassandra hadn’t been a surprise, but Dorian had. It had made her stop to consider if things had gotten better between the two of them.

It was difficult to say.

Bull had hung back with the Chargers all day. From the sounds of their raucous laughter, he was telling quite the amusing stories. Cassandra, on the other hand, was riding ahead and being taciturn, still mulling over the events of the Fade. Her silence was alright with Evelyn; it left her plenty of time to talk with Dorian.

“Spending the night with the Commander?” said mage asked slyly. “How shameless.”

She snorted. “That’s funny, coming from you,” she retorted. “Was it just me, or were you and Bull gossiping like little girls all night?”

“I will not be held responsible for what I said or did under the influence of that swill Bull produced for us to drink last night,” Dorian said firmly.

“Then you _were_ together?”

“Well, I didn’t want to be alone,” he said. “Not after… well, you know.”

She did know. She hadn’t wanted to be alone either. Hence… her asking Cullen to stay the night with her. She flushed, remembering her boldness. Though she didn’t regret it. No, not one bit. She would never regret waking up, his hand still clenched tight in hers. She would never forget the warm, sleepy smile he’d shot her when he’d woken up. Nor would she forget the way it had made her feel – both content and incomplete at the same time.

“So, did you seal the deal?”

Evelyn was drawn from her thoughts by Dorian’s questions She snorted. “Yes, I willingly had sex with four broken ribs in order to _seal_ the _deal_ ,” she snapped.

“Nothing like a challenge to better your skills.”

“A challenge?” she repeated. She barked out a laugh. “I could’ve punctured a lung!”

“I seem to recall a certain bald elf offering to heal you,” Dorian reminded her. “So that one is really on you, my dear.” He sighed and shook his head. “What a missed opportunity! Though to be fair, Bull and I thought he was going to yell at you for being so… irresponsible.” He waggled his eyebrows at her as he said this last bit. “I suppose you got off rather lightly.”

She huffed. “What else was I to do?” she demanded. “Let us hit the ground? I’d prefer my organs to remain _inside_ my body, thank you very much!”

“Oh, believe me, I am very much thankful for your quick thinking,” he said quickly. “But I fear all Cullen heard was ‘Evelyn’ and ‘Fade’ before he went ballistic. Or so Varric informed me.”

“Ballistic?” she winced.

He waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, you know how he is,” he said. “Going around and harrumphing about things over which he – and you! – have no control. Honestly, you’re the Inquisitor – danger comes with the title! He should be used to it by now.”

“I still don’t wish to worry him,” she replied.

“He’ll always worry,” the mage said flatly. “Of course he will – he’s falling for you.”

Evelyn looked over to Dorian sharply, who looked completely unfazed by his remarks. He noticed her staring after a bit, and turned to face her, raising an eyebrow at her expression. “Yes?” he asked. “I know I’m dazzlingly handsome, but the effort is wasted on me, my dear.”

“He’s falling for me?”

He blinked at her. “Had you really no idea?” he asked.

“Well, I mean, I had… _some_ hints,” she muttered lamely.

Dorian snorted. “Evelyn, he slept in your tent last night!” he exclaimed. “Despite his misgivings! He stayed with you simply because you _asked_ him to. Not to mention he’s almost kissed you.” He peered at curiously. “Say, how many hints do you need? I’m not sure how many more he can give you without being blatantly obvious.” He paused, turning back to himself. “At what point does a hint become a statement of fact?”

“But all of that could be explained!” she protested. “What if he’s just attracted to me?”

“So what if he is?” Dorian shot back. “That’s the whole point of this little exercise in sexual prowess.”

“I thought the whole point of this exercise was our _lack_ of sexual prowess,” she said flatly.

“Besides, he’s never come on to you before,” he pointed out, ignoring her.

That was true. Until they’d begun speaking more often, Cullen had never expressed any interest in her. He’d exchanged pleasantries with her, discussed war missions with her, and given her brief explanations on training regimens and his lyrium withdrawal symptoms. But he’d never… flirted with her, and certainly never touched her, before they’d developed a more friendly relationship.

“So even if it _was_ mere sexual attraction, why would he wait to express his interest now?” Dorian continued.

“I see your point,” she conceded.

That then begged the question – if Cullen was falling for her, was she falling for him? She certainly enjoyed spending time in his presence, and she was definitely attracted to him; he was rather devastatingly handsome. His nearness made her nervous, clumsy even. Yet it also emboldened her to say things to him that she normally wouldn’t. A perfect example was their conversation in the war room. She had been completely flustered, and yet she’d pushed at him hard enough to see the lust in his eyes.

But was that falling for someone?

She’d only had a few real relationships in her short life. Most of her encounters with men had been entirely carnal, even if they’d lasted more than one night. She’d not truly dallied with nobles, so everything had had to be entirely clandestine; she couldn’t have let any of her own interests court her. Her father would’ve murdered the poor boys.

The few courtships she’d had _were_ from nobles, and she’d not felt one tenth of the attraction to any of them as she felt for Cullen. Those men had given her flowers and jewelry, read her delicate poetry, and taken her for strolls around the estate gardens. They had shot her winning smiles, kissed her hand, and showered her with compliments. But she was willing to bet that they hadn’t fallen for her any more than she had fallen for them. They had just been participating in the ritual of arranged marriages.

In short, she had little to no idea what falling for someone felt like.

She sighed then. “I’m not very good at this,” she muttered to herself.

Dorian chuckled. “At what?” he asked.

“Understanding my feelings,” she replied. “This was supposed to be easy. Find someone you like and lure them into your bed. No feelings attached.” She shook her head. “But I don’t think it’s like that anymore. Not with Cullen.”

“Evelyn,” Dorian said gently, “let us be honest for a moment. You were _never_ playing a game with Cullen.”

She peered at him, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Cullen may have been at the top of your list, but you never pursued him,” the mage continued. “You gave him to me.” He snorted. “Of course, our dear Commander has no interest in the finer things in life, so he politely rejected my advances.”

“Of course,” she agreed, smirking.

“But while you stopped pursuing him romantically, you began to befriend him. You gave him the chance you didn’t in Haven. No offense meant,” he said quickly, sensing her wince before she actually had a chance to enact it.

“No, I deserve that,” she muttered.

“And now you’ve had the chance to really fall for each other!” the mage said happily.

“But this isn’t supposed to be about falling for someone,” Evelyn protested.

“Oh, to hell with what it’s _supposed_ to be about,” Dorian snapped. “You have a chance for something real here, Evelyn. Don’t squander that!”

She eyed the mage warily, considering his words. “You think so?” she asked, absently worrying her lower lip.

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathed, a full smile blooming on his lips. “Evelyn – _go_ for it!”

“But that hardly seems fair to you,” she persisted. “We went into this together!” Dorian chuckled, and she raised a perplexed eyebrow at him. “What is so funny?” she demanded.

“Oh, my dear, did you never read your classical drama as a child?” he asked, amused.

“What?”

He leaned over towards her, eyes twinkling. “Don’t give up on my account,” he said. “I’ll be fine.” He waved a hand. “Besides, my dear, you’ve forgotten the first rule of such games – _all’s fair in love and war_.”

* * * * *

Cullen was truly impressed with what Rylen had managed to accomplish out here in the Approach. When he’d sent his second-in-command out to Griffon Wing Keep, he’d been unsure of how the man would do. He was certainly competent at Skyhold, but being someone’s second was far different from leading. Cullen had found that many men were very good at interpreting and following through on orders and yet dismal at actually giving them.

He was happy to discover Rylen was not one of those men.

He had sent part of the Inquisition’s forces back to Skyhold under the direction of Ser Barris. Josephine and several members of the Inquisitor’s inner circle were with him, able to assist in any capacity should he require it. But he had full trust in the Templar; the man had shown himself to be of an excellent caliber, despite the failures of the Order he had served. Cullen was seriously considering a suggestion to Evelyn that they use their resources to push for Barris to be made the new Knight-Commander.

But that would have to wait until Evelyn returned from her side trip to the Storm Coast. And after he returned from Griffon Wing. He wished to stay a day or so longer, to inspect the fortifications personally. They’d rushed through on their way to Adamant, and he’d not gotten a chance.

Rylen had cleaned up the keep, and repaired those sections of the fortress that needed repairing. With some assistance from Skyhold’s troops, he’d cleared out a nest of varghests and secured a source of fresh water. He’d also had his men build walking bridges over the sulfur pits to the south, allowing further access into the dunes. On top of all that, he’d managed to set up a rotating guard rotation and daily training drills.

Cullen was impressed, and very pleased.

A soft tug on his elbow caught his attention. To his surprise, Leliana had joined him. She jerked her head towards a secluded spot of the battlements before walking off. He frowned; she wished to speak with him in private?

He followed her, climbing up the ladder. “Leliana?” he asked quietly, moving to stand beside her. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” she said quietly, “not really. But I have wished to speak with you on a certain subject for some time now. This seemed as good a moment as any.” She looked around cautiously. “We are in less… wary company than we are at Skyhold.”

“There are spies in Skyhold?” he asked sharply.

“Of course,” she said dismissively. “There are spies everywhere, Cullen. Do not worry – I have my men trained to watch them. Should they attempt anything, I shall know. Immediately.”

“As you say,” he replied, letting the subject drop. It made him uneasy, but if Leliana knew who the spies were and had a handle on things, there was really very little he could do to help. In fact, he would probably just get in the way. Subterfuge wasn’t his strong point.

“I did _not_ need my men to hear you spent the night with the Inquisitor, however,” she said slyly.

Cullen flushed. “And how many people are talking about it?” he asked, preparing for the worst.

“Oh, everyone,” she replied, smiling lightly at him. “It’s so romantic – the Inquisitor and her Commander. Even your most stoic warriors can’t help but grin at such a notion.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen huffed. Even his best warriors? The ones who had been serving in armies for the better parts of their lives? He’d hoped that that night could remain private, something between Evelyn and he. Apparently that had been stupidity on his part.

“You cannot blame them,” Leliana continued. She crossed her arms behind her back and moved to the very edge of the ramparts, staring out at the miles of sand. “In this situation, men will take every opportunity to talk about something other than war. They deserve such escapism. And besides,” she added, looking back at him, “they are happy for you.”

“Nothing has happened,” he protested.

And nothing _had_ happened. The two of them had merely fallen asleep, he on the floor and she on her cot. Their hands had stayed joined the whole night, yes, but that was about as risqué as things had gotten. In the morning, they’d made small conversation while they put on their armor. She’d teased him about his curling hair, mussed from sleep, and he’d teased her when he’d had to help her tie her boots.

She’d not been able to reach the laces because of her ribs.

Of course, then he had insisted that she go to Solas and let him heal her, to which she had protested vehemently. But eventually, she’d relented, seeing the practicality of his words. Especially once she’d agreed to go off with Bull to see about this potential Qunari alliance.

“But you _want_ something to happen,” she smirked. She turned to face him, leaning back against a column.

He paused, wondering if he should attempt to downplay the situation. The thought was discarded in a moment with a wry snort. This was Leliana – she wasn’t the Inquisition’s spymaster for nothing.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“And Evelyn shares your feelings.”

“It… certainly appears so,” he confirmed. Women didn’t try to kiss you if they didn’t like you, right? Or ask you to stay the night with them and hold their hand? He was no expert, but he believed those were all good signs.

Leliana was silent for a moment, studying him. Cullen shifted uncomfortably under her icy blue gaze. Was this how her interrogations went? If so, he felt sorry for the victims. That gaze was merciless.

“Josie and I have talked at length about this… situation,” the spymaster admitted.

“Josephine knows?”

“Of course,” Leliana said. “She’s not an idiot. And we’d have to be blind to not see the tension between you two in council meetings.” She grinned at him. “You don’t hide it very well.”

Cullen didn’t really know what to say to that, so he just rubbed the back of his neck as he waited for her to continue.

“We have our concerns,” Leliana continued, her grin fading as the conversation turned to a more serious note. “Josie was a little miffed at first. She’s been trying to find a suitable marriage alliance for Evie since Haven, to bolster our reputation.” Cullen bristled at that. As if Evelyn were a prize mare to be sold off to the highest bidder! The thought made him angry. “But this may be for the better; if she avoids marrying any of her potential suitors, she annoys none of them. Were she to pick one of them, others would inevitably feel slighted.

“With you, the situation is quite different,” she explained. “It adds a romantic aspect, and greatly boosts morale.”

“It does?” Cullen asked, surprised.

“It proves love may be found even in the most dire and desperate of situations,” she replied. “Oh yes. This is a bard’s dream source material, Commander.”

He scowled. “Just what I need,” he muttered. “Having songs written about me.”

“You took that chance when you signed up for the job,” she admitted, chuckling. The glimmer of amusement in her eyes died. “If we survive, that is.”

Cullen reached out a laid a sympathetic hand on her arm. It weighed heavily on all of them – the price of their failure. But Leliana perhaps shouldered the highest portion of the burden, saving Evelyn. Leliana had few friends, and even fewer people that she truly trusted. She paid a heavy price for their success, moving in the dark corners of Thedas where betrayal and murder were more common than friendship and light.

“But no matter,” the redhead said quickly, pushing the darkness away. “I did not come to talk to you about that.” She looked up at him. “Be careful with her, Commander. While Josie and I offer you two our full support, if something happens to you or to Evelyn, our entire goal may be threatened. We cannot afford for either of you to give less than your best to the Inquisition.”

Cullen stiffened, drawing his arm away. What did they think he was going to do to Evelyn? Get into her bed and then break her heart? Did they really think so little of him? But no, that wasn’t it, he thought, relaxing. They were merely being cautious; they were wary people, the two of them, and they saw the potential ramifications of a relationship gone awry. He knew the risks himself; he’d contemplated them for some while now, anxious about whether or not the gains were worth the potential losses.

He’d eventually come to the conclusion that they were.

Evelyn was worth everything he might lose.

“I understand,” he said quietly.

“You must know, we do wish you the best,” Leliana said softly.

“Of course.” He gave her a small smile to show that he really _did_ understand.

Leliana nodded. “Good,” she replied. “Josie and I thought it best that we say something. I volunteered.” She smirked at him. “She needed to get back to Skyhold. She says that she needed to meet with some nobles, but I personally think she missed her bed.”

He snorted at that. “That sounds about right,” he said, thinking fondly of their pampered ambassador. Unlike the two of them, Josephine had never had to spend nights out of doors in her youth. Her disdain for the accommodations on the journey to Adamant had been veiled, but easy to pick out by those who knew her well.

“Take care, Commander,” Leliana said in farewell. She patted his shoulder as she passed him, slipping away to the part of the keep she’d claimed as her workspace.

Cullen remained where he was for a moment. It touched him that Josephine and Leliana had given him their blessing; of course he really didn’t think that he _needed_ their blessing to pursue a romantic relationship with Evelyn, but he took it as a good sign. It showed that they were taking this seriously, and not as just a crush, some hopeless infatuation. For he certainly didn’t see things that way.

At first, he’d simply felt attracted to Evelyn. She was a beautiful woman, and her charm was disarming. He’d thought she’d been attracted to him in a similar fashion. But when she’d made no moves to pursue anything in Haven, he’d let it go. He’d assumed that something about him had put her off. But then she’d started talking to him more at Skyhold, getting to know him. Sometime in their talks, he’d been startled to find that he was no longer feeling mere physical attraction.

A part of him was frightened that she was only speaking with him because of the silly little game she was playing with Dorian. But the mage had insisted that Evelyn had all but given up on the game, having had no successes. No, Dorian had said that Evelyn’s feelings for him were separate from their game. He’d then gone on and on about helping her realize that. The mage’s words had drawn Cullen from his dithering, helped him to realize something as well.

He _liked_ Evelyn. He wanted to be _with_ Evelyn.

It was the way she’d bite her lower lip when they played chess, trying so hard to make the right move and yet utterly failing every time. It was the way she fidgeted whenever he got close to her. It was the way she personally handed out food and clothing to refugees. It was the way she valued her friends’ hopes and dreams.

There were so many little things that she did that he liked about her, so many little nuances that made Evelyn unique. He’d never met anyone quite like her, as cliché as that sounded. He snorted at the thought; he really must be falling for Evelyn, to be thinking of such trite idioms.

A decision made, he turned and strode from the battlements. He needed to get back to his tent, where his things were located. A sentry waved a greeting at him, but he merely made a motion in passing. He could not, _would_ not be bothered right now.

He had a letter to write.

* * * * *

Evelyn sank into the tub gratefully, sighing as the hot water hit her skin.

It had been a blessing to find this place at the base of the Frostbacks. It was a small inn, situated in a little valley between two high mountain peaks. It sat at the base of an old hunting trail that travelers would use to cross the mountains into Ferelden. Though small, it offered hot meals and baths, and rooms had been available. She’d leapt at the chance to sleep in a real bed and not a roll on the ground.

Cassandra made a similar contended noise as she sank into the tub next to Evelyn’s. Her eyes slipped closed as she rested her head back against the warm metal. “This is heavenly,” she murmured.

Evelyn made a noise of agreement. “Why are we fighting our noble upbringings again?” she asked, frowning. “Why did we give up baths for swords?”

Cassandra snorted. “Because we are idiots,” she replied. “And we hate petticoats.”

“Ah, yes, the petticoats,” Evelyn snorted, reaching for the soap to wash her hair. “I forgot about the petticoats.”

It took her almost ten minutes to work through the tangles in her hair. She was very frustrated by the time she was finished, and she had to scoop several knots of dark, tangled hair out of the water. She shot an envious glance over at Cassandra, who had worked her fingers through her short locks in a matter of moments. Though she loved her hair, sometimes she seriously contemplated hacking it all off.

A knock at the door made the both of them pause. The innkeeper’s wife poked her head in, an apologetic look on her kind, round face. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, her Orlesian accent thick, “but a letter’s arrived for you!” She bustled inside and laid the letter on a dry corner of the stool near Evelyn’s tub.

“Oh,” Evelyn said, frowning. “Thank you.” Who would be sending her a letter so quickly? Had something happened on the return to Skyhold? She looked up to ask the woman, but the innkeeper’s wife had already bustled back out into the hallway.

Intrigued, she dried her hands off before tearing the letter open, holding it away from her so she wouldn’t drip any water on it.

 _Evelyn_ , it read,

_I hope that this finds you well. I apologize if receiving this letter has made you worry. I assure you, all is well with me and the soldiers as we head back to Skyhold. We have stopped for a few days at Griffon Wing Keep. It is there I am writing from._

“Who is it from?” Cassandra asked. Evelyn looked up to see the other woman staring at her intently.

“It’s from Cullen,” she replied softly. She didn’t have to wait to read the signature at the end – she could tell from the tone of voice, from his masculine handwriting.

“What does it say?” Cassandra insisted. Her voice was low and eager. Evelyn frowned at her friend; did Cassandra know something she didn’t here?

“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t read very much of it yet.”

“Well, go on!”

_This is… difficult for me. I do not consider myself a romantic, and I would much rather do this in person. But I cannot know when you will return to Skyhold, and it grows increasingly difficult for me to keep these thoughts to myself._

_Evelyn – I cannot stop thinking about you._

_I think about how well you handle yourself in battle, and I am fiercely proud to be your Commander. I think of how you manage situations that I look upon with dread, and I wonder at how effortlessly you make such decisions appear. I think about how you have become a far greater leader than anyone would have imagined back in Haven. But more than that, I think of you as a woman._

_I think of your lovely face, and how beautiful you are when you smile at me. I think of all the ridiculous things you say to me, and how much you make me laugh. I think of how your hair is as untamable as you are, fighting you at each step of the way. I think of your eyes, and how I have never seen such a delicate shade of green before. I think of your lips, and how you pull your lower lip between your teeth when you’re nervous._

_I will not speak of the things you make me want to do to you when you bite your lip like that._

Oh, but she wanted him to speak of those things. She felt heat rising in her cheeks as Cullen’s words sent a wave of heat through her, straight to her groin. Cassandra made noise of inquiry, but she waved a hand, continuing to read the rest of the letter.

_I will not say anything on how much I wish to kiss you, how desperately I want to hold you close, not letting you go, until neither of us can properly breathe. Or how I wish to touch you the way a woman should be touched. Nor will I speak on how I cannot recall ever desiring a woman as much as I desire you._

_No, I will not speak of such things._

_I apologize if my words are too forward. Perhaps I should have waited until you have returned to Skyhold. But I cannot keep them to myself any longer, and I believe that you feel similarly. I hope that you can feel for me what I have begun to feel for you. Maker, I hope that you do._

_Please return to Skyhold soon as you may. I… I miss you more than is likely appropriate._

_Maker watch over you._

_Yours,_  
_Cullen_

“So?” Cassandra demanded, unable to keep herself from waiting any longer. Evelyn wasn’t sure of what to say, so she handed her friend the letter. Cassandra took it with eager hands, barely remembering to wipe her hands dry. Her brown eyes flew across the pages, breath occasionally catching in her throat. When she was finished, she looked up at Evelyn with stars in her eyes. “How romantic!” she cried.

“I know,” Evelyn replied, unable to stop the smile that crept onto her face.

“What are you going to do?” Cassandra asked.

“I… don’t know,” Evelyn admitted.

“We must finish this business with the Qunari quickly,” the Seeker announced, setting the letter down and resettling into her tub. “You must get to Cullen as soon as possible!”

Evelyn smirked as too settled back into the water, moving the soap between her hands. “I think you’re even more excited than I am,” she teased.

Cassandra scoffed at her. “Hardly,” she said. “I doubt anyone is as excited as you are. Your face is glowing.”

“Is it?” Evelyn asked, absently reaching a hand up to touch her face.

The Seeker snorted in response.

Evelyn couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face for the remainder of the bath. Bull asked her what she was so happy about at dinner, while Dorian smirked knowingly, but she gave them no hints. She rushed through eating, eager to get back to her room so that she could read the letter again, and again. She wanted to imprint the words on her memory, so that even after the paper tore and the ink faded, she could remember them.

She never wanted to forget this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Back to non-angsty happy moments (with some cheese hahaha) for this chapter. I hope this isn't terribly out of character. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your comments and kudos :) I have never had a story receive such a good reception on this site! hahaha does that make me sound pathetic? But I really do appreciate all you guys say :)


	12. The Devastation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW. And again, somewhat angsty *cringe* 
> 
> I think that's fairly obvious based upon the tags I've flagged this story with, but I thought I'd mention it nonetheless.

 “Bull! Save your men!”

The Iron Bull blinked several times in quick succession, as if he had awoken from a trance. He half-turned to Evelyn, seeming confused by the wild look in her eyes. He hesitated, looking across the cove to the hill where Krem and the rest of the Chargers were situated. At the moment, they were safe from the Venatori prowling on the beach. But they wouldn’t remain safe if Bull couldn’t come to a decision quickly about sounding the retreat.

“Think carefully, Hissrad,” the elf, Gatt, warned Bull. “This would be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!”

Bull snorted. “You mean they don’t already consider me such?” he demanded, scowling down at the elf.

“Think of what you’d be throwing away! For this? For _her?”_

“Bull!” Evelyn cried, more insistently this time. “Sound the retreat!”

Bull stared at her for just a moment longer before nodding sharply. He brought the horn to his lips, blowing one quick, loud note. His eye was fixed on his group’s position, watching them intently as they gathered together and began to retreat back to the Inquisition’s forward camp. “There,” he muttered. Krem took one last look at the area before following the rest of the Chargers down the hill. “They should be safe now.”

“I hope this is worth it, Hissrad,” Gatt spat out, glaring at the man he’d once called his friend. “I hope she’s worth it.”

“His name is Iron Bull,” Evelyn snapped. “Don’t you call him ‘Hissrad’.” She reached over her shoulder for her quiver, fingering an arrow as she stared down the elf. “And he didn’t do it for me. He did it because he values his men’s lives.”

Gatt looked like he wanted to say something else, but he held his tongue. After a final venomous look up at Bull, he stalked off, muttering angrily in Qunlat. Evelyn eased the hold she had on the arrow, her gaze softening as she looked at Bull.

He was staring out into the harbor, watching the Qunari dreadnaught as it came into the cove. “What happens to the boat?” she asked curiously. “Will the Venatori give chase when the Qunari retreat?”

“Retreat?” Bull repeated. He shook his head. “Dreadnaughts don’t retreat, Boss. They-” He covered his eyes as the ship suddenly exploded into a thousand fiery fragments. Evelyn winced, belatedly covering her ears to shield them from the noise.

“Lovely,” Dorian said flatly, watching as the shrapnel from the dreadnaught sank into the stormy blue waters.

“Yeah,” Bull said, staring out at the wreckage. There was a mournful tone to his voice, though Evelyn didn’t think it was because of the boat. “Let’s go.” He turned his back on the sight, and he didn’t look back as he began his descent.

Dorian and Cassandra turned to Evelyn, asking her silently what they should do. She shrugged and made to follow Bull. What else was there to do? The entire mission had been a failure, leaving a hollow feeling in her stomach. She’d had a sneaking suspicion that this alliance had been too good to be true, but she hated being right about it. The look in Bull’s eye as he’d finally made his decision…

She had never seen a man look so torn in his life.

Bull wasn’t in camp when they returned. Harding said that she hadn’t seen the Qunari or his men since they’d left earlier in the day. Evelyn had frowned at that; had Bull called his men off to talk to them alone? Was he going to explain what had happened to them personally? He hadn’t… run off somewhere on his own, had he? It wouldn’t be like Bull to do such a thing, but he didn’t appear to be entirely in his right mind at the moment. She knew she wouldn’t be, were she in his position.

He'd not lost just his connection with his friends, with his homeland. It wasn't just that he'd lost his occupation, or that he'd failed his mission. He'd lost his position in the world under the Qun, set adrift to flounder amidst the many confusing, often mutually exclusive philosophies of the rest of the world. He'd been exiled by his own people - for making the _right_ decision, no less. He'd had to pick between his ideology and his friends' lives... It was a decision she wished that she never had to make. And she'd faced her fair share of difficult choices. 

With a sigh, she sat down near the fire, hoping to coax some warmth back into her sodden fingers.

By nightfall, Bull still hadn't returned. All of the scouts had returned to camp and dinner had been finished, but the Qunari was nowhere to be seen. Evelyn kept looking out into the shadows just beyond the rim of the fire's light, hoping to see him lurking about. But she had no such luck. The Chargers had returned hours earlier, keeping to themselves on the other side of the fire. Evelyn wondered what they’d been told; no one looked particularly upset save Krem. He alone had a brooding look upon his face, staring into the fire intently instead of conversing with the others.

Should she go and talk to Bull? She wasn’t sure. How would she feel in such a situation? Would _she_ want to talk to people? Or would she want to be left to herself? It was impossible to say. She’d never faced anything like this. She’d never been forcibly exiled from her people, from her way of life. It had to be difficult for Bull.

She snorted into her soup then.

No, _difficult_ was dealing with selfish nobles who all wanted to pry some boon from her closed fist.  _Difficult_ was facing a squadron of rogue Red Templars in a lyrium frenzy.  _Difficult_ was choosing how to punish those people who flouted the law of the land to serve Corypheus.

 _This_ was devastation.

* * * * *

Never before had Dorian been envious of elves.

There wasn’t much to be envious of, really. Treated as second-class citizens throughout most of the world, elves were often forced into alienages against their wills, mistrusted by humans, and downright scorned in some societies. In others, like his native Tevinter, they were even made slaves, their cries for mercy falling on the deaf ears of their silent gods. Even their glorious past had been lost to time, leaving them with a straggling, broken culture that they tried desperately to maintain, like a man attempting to hold back the tide from a house built upon the sand.

No, Dorian did not envy elves.

However, he thought as he tripped over a root and fell into the dirt for the fifth time that night, he wouldn’t have complained if he had elven night vision.

“Kaffas,” he muttered, pushing himself up off the ground. He dusted the dirt off his robes, though he feared cleanliness was becoming a vain endeavor. On top of the rain and the earlier fighting, he wasn’t sure why he was even attempting to be hygienic at the moment. Habit, probably.

He could have summoned a light to see by. That would have been the obvious, logical solution to his problem.

But Bull hated magic. He wanted nothing to do with it, his discomfort palpable whenever he was in its presence. And after today’s events, the last thing Dorian wanted was to make the Qunari mercenary more uncomfortable.

“Where are you?” he asked, setting him hands on his hips. “Where did you go, you great, clumsy brute?”

“Clumsy?”

Dorian whirled about, trying to find the source of the voice. In the process, his sodden robes wrapped tight around his ankles, and he fell into the dirt once more. He cursed as he disentangled himself.

A great, strong hand reached out and pulled him to a standing position. Bull had an amused look on his face, though the emotion didn’t quite reach his eye. “I’m not the one who keeps falling on my ass,” he said.

Dorian scowled up at him. “The roots keep getting in my way,” he snapped.

“Then watch where you put your damn feet,” Bull snorted. He stepped back, leaning against a mighty oak tree wide enough to support his broad shoulders. He crossed his arms over his chest, sending Dorian an appraising look. “What are you doing out here, anyways?”

“Oh, I enjoy getting my face smeared with dirt,” Dorian replied, rolling his eyes. “It’s good for the skin.” He resettled his robes about him, being more careful to separate them this time so that they wouldn’t tangle. “I’m looking for you. Was that not overwhelmingly obvious?”

“Why?”

“Mostly to make sure that you hadn’t gotten mauled by a bear. You have been gone a good while,” Dorian said. He chuckled. “Though, to be fair, you’d probably do more damage to the bear than it would to you.”

“Is Boss worried?”

“Evelyn?” Dorian blinked. “Oh, probably. She worries about all of us. But she didn’t say anything to me before she and Cassandra went off to sleep.”

“She didn’t send you?”

Dorian paused, considering the other’s question. Did the oaf not believe him? He’d come here of his own volition, not at Evelyn’s prompting. She’d wanted to come and find him; her body language had made that rather obvious. She’d sat around the fire for hours, wringing her hands in guilt. When Dorian had announced that he would go and find Bull, she’d given him a most pitiable grateful look. He’d sighed and ruffled her hair before heading out into the dark.

“Is it so hard to believe that I came here of my own will?” he asked quietly, taking a step towards Bull.

The Qunari shrugged. “Depends,” he replied. “Did you need something?”

Dorian sighed. “Bull.” He broke off, unsure of what to say. The words weren’t coming to him; that was becoming far too common of a scenario for his liking.

“Why are you here, Dorian?”

“I… suppose I was wondering if you were alright.”

“Alright?” Bull repeated. He snorted. “I’m fucking Tal-Vashoth, and you’re asking me if I’m _alright?”_ He shook his head angrily, muttering something in Qunlat that Dorian couldn’t understand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine,” Dorian snapped. He sounded more incensed that he actually was; he, of all people, could understand not wanting to talk about how he felt. He’d never spoken on his true feelings in Minrathous. For years, he’d kept those thoughts bottled up inside, cautious of who he revealed anything to. It was still hard for him to open up to Evelyn, and he loved her like a younger sister.

So he wasn’t going to pry. No. He wouldn’t.

“Do you want to go back to camp?” he asked instead.

“No.”

Dorian sighed. “You don’t want to talk, and you don’t want to go back to camp,” he said. “What do you want?”

Before he could register what was happening, Bull had covered the distance between them, gripping his arms tight. Dorian froze as Bull spun them around; now it was his back pressed up against the tree trunk, hemmed in by drooping branches and Bull’s body. The Qunari stared at him for a moment. “I want _you_ ,” he said then, voice dark and deep with lust. Dorian felt the first pangs of arousal hit him then, and he swiftly leaned in to press a firm kiss to the other’s lips.

Bull took control of the kiss quickly, capturing his mouth in a rough, needy kiss. Dorian had no hesitations this time, moving his hands up to frame Bull’s face and pull in him closer. He lost himself in the sensations, not bothering to wonder if this was something that he _should_ be doing, if this was an intelligent decision. It felt right, and it felt damn good, and that was all that mattered. This was what he'd wanted since that first kiss, wasn't it? This was what he'd been thinking about at every waking hour of the day. Giving in would be so easy...

He opened his mouth a little in invitation, and Bull swarmed into his mouth, deepening the kiss. Dorian groaned as the sensations intensified, as Bull’s hard hands on his arms moved to his sides, hoisting him up so that they were on an equal level. The mage made a rather undignified noise as his feet left the ground, but it quickly turned into a pleasant murmur as their bodies pressed together, and he gave in to the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

Bull wasn’t gentle. He nipped and bit at Dorian’s lips so hard that the mage feared he’d have bruises in the morning. His hands were firm and unyielding, not gentle and soothing. There were no soft caresses against his skin, no gentle whispers in his ears. That wasn’t what Bull needed right now, and to be truthful, it wasn’t something Dorian would have been comfortable with.

But this was different.

This was raw and primal, Bull’s questing mouth and fingers speaking of need, and not emotion. This was something Dorian could understand, something he could accept. This was Bull reacting selfishly after he'd been cut to the quick, Bull being instinctual. And if he was entirely honest, this was him being rather instinctual as well.

So he didn’t protest when Bull started yanking on his robes, trying to get them off his shoulders. Instead, he moved the Qunari’s questing hand to the right spots, helping him ease the buckles through the loops.

He didn’t protest when Bull’s mouth left his own, traveling down his throat and past his clavicles to settle on a dusky nipple. He cried out when Bull bit down on him, hard, arching his back off the tree at the pleasurably painful sensation. Another lover would have looked up at him apologetically, perhaps soothed the bite with a soft lick or a gentle kiss.

Bull just kept going.

It was becoming far too hot for pants, despite the cool rain falling from the midnight clouds. He wasn’t nearly as big as Bull, but Dorian was still a strong man. He yanked himself out of the Qunari’s grip then, sliding down the tree until his feet hid the ground again. He barely had his belt out of the loops before he was on the ground, Bull shifting them mid-fall so that his bigger frame took most of the impact.

Dorian took a moment to reorient himself, and Bull took an opportunity that it presented itself. He leaned back in, tracing his tongue along all the crevices of Dorian’s chest. The mage shivered as the wet trails cooled on his skin, and he felt his cock twitch in his trousers, responding to his arousal.

Bull felt it too, for he quickly moved a hand to palm Dorian through his pants. The mage shuddered against him, stifling a moan by biting his lip. “Don’t be quiet,” Bull growled, looking up at him fiercely. “Be as loud as you want. We’re too far from camp for them to hear.” He squeezed Dorian a little more firmly, and this time, the mage followed Bull’s instructions, letting the moan fall from his lips.

He struggled at the strong hand that still had him pinned, trying to reach his pants to undo the ties that bound them to his hips. But Bull was a step ahead of him, jerking the pants off in one fluid motion. Dorian hissed as the cool air hit his sweat-slicked skin, but then Bull’s hand was back on him, coaxing his member even harder, and he was suddenly grateful for the cool air.

Dorian very much wished to return the favor, to trace his hands down Bull’s muscular torso and touch him. He wanted to latch his mouth against the other’s frame, kissing and licking and appreciating the glorious frame above him. But that wasn’t what Bull needed at the moment; that would have been something other than just fucking, and that was all this was.

Fucking.

Bull sat back to remove his own trousers, and Dorian watched with lustful eyes as the other’s cock sprung free. He wanted to sit up and wrap his hands around that girth, wanted to sit up and take it in his mouth as far as he could – but again, he resisted the impulse.

The Qunari flipped him over then so that he was on his hands and knees. Dorian looked over his shoulder in surprise, and quickly gasped when Bull shoved his cock between the cleft of his ass. The gasp turned to a moan as the other’s cock hit his own, and he couldn’t help but reach a hand back and clutch the two together. Now it was Bull’s turn to groan above him.

For several moments, the blissful friction was enough for them, leaving them both panting and near trembling. But the need for more was overwhelming, and soon Bull was pushing his fingers into Dorian’s mouth.

The mage took them willingly, sucking on them long and hard to slicken them. He suddenly laved his tongue around one sinuously, and he felt Bull’s cock twitch against him. The Qunari groaned behind him, and then the fingers were gone, drawing back. He tensed as one circled his ass, and he forced himself to relax.

Bull worked him up to three fingers, fondling his cock with his other hand to lessen the sting. Dorian could already feel his orgasm coiling in his belly, and he didn’t think he could last much longer. The pressure was intense after so long without sex, and he was almost embarrassed. But then he felt Bull’s cock leaking against his entrance, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who was close.

He groaned as Bull pushed into him. He’d never been with a man so large, never been so completely filled. It was almost painful, but Bull gave him the necessary time to adjust, allowing him to test the sensation with a cautious jerk of his hips before he began moving.

The first thrust was like a jolt of electricity from a spell gone wrong. Dorian cried out as Bull’s hips snapped forward into his, the sensation intense. The second thrust had him cursing in Tevene, hands tangling in the underbrush for purchase. Bull groaned heavily on the third, and on the fourth, he hit that spot deep within Dorian that had the mage groaning at the sudden, heavy sensation in the pit of his stomach.

Their pace picked up after that, both of them sensing that the other was close. The sounds they were making mingled together, and it was impossible to know which moan came from what mouth.

And then Bull reached a hand forward to grab Dorian’s cock, and the mage was finished, climaxing hard into the dirt. His face fell forward onto his arm, catching his moan in the crook of his head. He shuddered as he felt Bull’s orgasm hit him, the Qunari slumping back against him as he finished.

They didn’t say anything for several moments afterwards, instead simply clinging to each other as the rain cooled their heated bodies. Dorian could feel Bull’s face pressed against his back, and the Qunari’s hands were still wrapped round his hips. It was… comforting, he realized. He felt warm, and secure. It wasn’t something he was used to experiencing after sex.

That deeply unsettled him, and he pulled himself from the other’s embrace quickly, moving to clean himself.

Bull moved away as well, pulling his pants back over his hips and tying them with slow, precise movements. He handed Dorian his pants next, and the mage took them without a word.

If his robes had been dirty earlier, they were filthy now. They’d been carelessly tossed into the mud, and the tan leather was stained a deep, earthy brown. With a sigh, he shrugged back into the gear, doing the buckles quickly. He keep his eyes down, refusing to meet Bull in the eye even though he felt the other’s gaze upon him.

But he couldn’t avoid Bull forever. He ran out of buckles. The Qunari opened his mouth to speak, but Dorian stepped forward, interrupting him. “I should get back to camp.” He was slightly shamed by how easily the words left his mouth, how easily he slipped back into the old habit of pushing any attempt at intimacy away. But it was only a slight guilt; it was more self-preservation, a defensive technique he’d picked up after several bad experiences.

He didn’t know what this was. He didn’t know what this encounter meant.

But he wasn’t going to get hurt because of it. Not if he didn’t let it affect him.

Bull peered at him cautiously for a moment before nodding, his face unperturbed. “Tell Boss I’ll be back in the morning,” he grumbled, turning around and heading out into the forest.

Dorian watched him leave, watched him until he could no longer see the other for the darkness before he turned to head back to the camp. He pushed away the sense of loneliness that threatened to overtake him, pushed it deep down inside. It was better this way, he told himself. Bull had needed the distraction, and so Dorian had given it to them. They’d both enjoyed it.

But that was it. It was sex. It just a good, solid fuck. Nothing more. He sighed as he pushed forward through the trees, trying to find the path he’d lost. He shouldn’t be feeling as lonely as he did right now. There was no reason for it. Bull hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

It should have the same as if he'd just checked another man's name off his list. As if Bull were Hawke. Or Jim. No strings attached.

And yet… it didn't.

All he wanted to do was run back to the Qunari and sit with him in the dark, offering companionship to a man who was clearly hurting.

And for that, he had no explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I know this was a short chapter, but it felt right to end it here. It's more serious, and I didn't want to add anything too light-hearted at the end to cheapen the emotions. I hope I got those right too - these are my own personal interpretations of how Bull and Dorian would approach this situation. I've stressed about how to handle it for a while now, but I think this works. I think. Feel free to tell me what you think.
> 
> I'm also trying to finish this before the semester starts up again and I have to really do hard-core research. I have two weeks left. I write pretty fast, but I make no guarantees, since I also don't know how long this story will last. Just know that if it goes past August 24th, updates might get slower! I DO actually have to do my job, I suppose.
> 
> :)


	13. The Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support of last chapter! I know it was a bit rough to read! 
> 
> I hate leaving things on a sad note, so I wanted to update with this chapter as soon as I could. There is some introspection in this chapter and perhaps some canon divergence as I add my thoughts on the subject matter to the mix. I've rewritten this chapter what feels like a hundred times trying to get it right. I sincerely hope I did. This should set up the ending segments of the story.

“I should get back to camp.”

Roving eyes, hard set to the shoulders, vein pulsing in the throat. It was obvious to trained observers that Dorian was uncomfortable, fighting with himself even. His hair was curling at the temples, and the faint musky smell of sex still lingered in the air, but he was holding himself back, as if he could distance himself from what had just happened.

Shit.

Bull nodded. He didn’t want the other man to stay if he didn’t want to be here. He wondered why Dorian was so eager to get back to camp, however. Was it… shame? No, his wasn’t the posture of someone who was ashamed of a past action. He wasn’t hunched over, guilt written across his face. No, it was discomfort.

It made him wonder at what had to have happened in Dorian’s past for the mage to feel that way after something that was supposed to be so intimate.

“Tell Boss I’ll be back in the morning,” he continued, turning around and leaving the mage alone. He moved quietly through the brush, snapping branches as they got in his way. He didn’t hear any signs of movement from where Dorian stood, and when he turned to follow a darkened path down to the beach, he saw that the Tevinter mage was still rooted to the spot where Bull had left him.

He snorted at that.

The rain was naught but a fine mist by the time he reached the shore. It felt good on his skin; it was cleansing, in a way. It washed off the dirt and gore from the previous battle, and dampened the smell that still clung to his skin. Dorian’s smell. It was a sharp, clean scent, like oil from a bathhouse; but it wasn’t feminine, and there was an undercurrent there of something dark and sweet. He couldn’t put a name to it.

Leaving his boots by the edge of the path, he dragged a sun-bleached log over to the water, setting it down so that the tide would rush against his feet. He sat down with a heavy grunt. The dark water was cold as it swirled around his ankles, but he welcomed the stinging sensation. It woke him up a little, shocked his senses back to reality.

It was a beautiful night. Most of the clouds had cleared, pulling away to reveal an open expanse of midnight sky. Tiny pinpricks of light shone down on him, though he couldn’t make out any constellations. He’d never been able to get a handle on southern star patterns anyways; even after years in the south, they’d still mystified him.

Ironic, he thought. He still thought of these people as southerners, as different from him. He supposed now they weren’t so different after all.

Tal-Vashoth. Tal-Va- _fucking_ -shoth.

Perhaps, if he was true to himself, he could admit that he had seen this coming. Boss had been right – it was suspicious that the Qunari had waited for so long to lend a formal alliance. Was it happenstance that their offer had coincided with furious letters from his superiors about the amount of information he was revealing to the Inquisition? Was it just chance that they’d sent him long, caustic warnings right before they suggested an alliance?

He couldn’t say for certain, but he thought it unlikely. The Qun didn’t put much stock in coincidences.

But the idea that this had been merely a strange accident was easier to accept than the idea that this had been planned. That this had all been an elaborate trap set up to exile him. That was hard to swallow, even if the logical side of his mind could reason that it was perfectly legitimate in the eyes of his superiors.

It made him angry, and that thought frightened him. He wasn’t supposed to get angry – not like this. He’d been trained to be better than this. _I am stone_ , he thought to himself, recalling the words that had been drilled into him as a boy. _A stone does not feel pain when the water slaps its sides. A stone does not feel anger when a bird builds a nest atop its head_.

He snorted again, and shook his head. How was he supposed to be a fucking piece of stone when the world was being torn to pieces? How was anyone supposed to not get emotional about that?

The Ben-Hassrath liked to think that they created the perfect agents when they trained their men. After Seheron, he’d questioned the logic of that line of thought. It didn’t seem so much that they were creating agents so much as destroying them. Slowly, bit by bit, until you could take no more. And then, when you couldn’t take it without crying to yourself at night and screaming at the shadows in defiance, they’d send you to the re-educators to destroy the new life that had threatened to grow from the ashes of your soul.

The sound of heavy, steel-shod boots on the tiny beach pebbles alerted him to another’s presence. They were light steps, belying the weight of the metal atop them, but cautious. He relaxed, recognizing those steps, and half-looked over a shoulder.

Krem.

The man stopped in his tracks at being caught, an indecisive look on his face.

Bull patted the log beside him. “Stop lurking in the shadows and have a seat,” he commanded, looking back out at the ocean. A rather large wave crested his feet then, wetting the hem of his pants and leaving behind the sharp tang of sea salt.

He heard the clink of metal on metal as Krem removed his boots, and then the crunch of stone as the other man moved to sit. Krem had removed his armor, clad in a simple shirt and pants. He didn’t do that very often, and it always surprised Bull at how small a man he was. He was so ferocious in battle, so headstrong and fierce; it seemed like he would be bigger.

“The ‘Vint came back to camp a while back,” Krem offered quietly. “Looked pretty out of sorts.”

“Did he?” Bull asked, his voice neutral. He watched as his second in command pulled a stalk of spindleweed out of the ground then, bringing it up to inspect.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Krem said. “But I know something did.”

Bull was silent. Yes, something had happened. He hadn’t yet decided if it was a mistake or not. A lot of that depended on Dorian, and how he processed this change in their… he supposed relationship was the right word, but it felt more intimate than was correct. The thought troubled him – and why couldn’t they have a relationship? He had a relationship with everyone else here. Why was the mage so intent on keeping him at arm’s length?

He hated to think it was simply because he was Qunari. And so he refused to think such thoughts.

“Ah, shit, I’m not very good at this kind of thing,” Krem muttered.

Bull looked down at the other man. “At what?” he asked. He didn’t have to ask, not really – he already knew the answer. It still warmed him a little; Krem cared. He’d come down to the beach to make sure that Bull was alright, despite knowing that Bull wasn’t likely to be in a very talkative mood.

He’d known it on the hillside, but this had been the right decision. Krem. Dalish. Skinner. Rocky. Even fucking Grim. They were _all_ the right decision.

Krem made some kind of gesture with his hands, trying to convey what he was trying to say without actually saying it. Bull snorted, amused despite himself, and clapped a hand on the other man’s back. “Yeah, I got it,” he said.

The other looked up at him gratefully, offering a sardonic smile. “I never know what to say in these situations,” he admitted.

“I don’t think anyone does,” Bull agreed.

“But… I dunno,” Krem broke off, looking thoughtfully at the spindleweed. He shrugged after a few moments. “Felt right to come down and say something. Do something.”

Bull squeezed his shoulder affectionately.

How could he have let this go? He’d been so close too… if it hadn’t been for the Boss’s shouts… He exhaled slowly through his nose, counting to ten in his head. No. He wouldn’t think of that. Done was done.

The two of them sat out there for a long time, staring silently at the ocean as the waves continued to lap at their feet. Neither of them felt the need to say more. It was a good silence, one born of companionship and not of awkwardness. It was the silence of an easy friendship in a moment of sadness.

It did nothing to ease the worry Bull felt, or the tension sitting atop his shoulders like a mountain. But it did help bring in the dawn, calming his nerves to a restless thrum instead of a galloping frazzle.

* * * * *

There had to be a name for it.

Dorian was sure that there had to be a name for the emotional state he was currently in. Some language had to have a way of describing this feeling. He was sure of it.

He was also sure that he didn’t know that word. Perhaps he didn't even know the right language. 

He sighed, urging his horse a little faster to catch up with the rest of his companions. He’d kept to himself since that fateful encounter the other night; he’d needed the time to think, to sort through his thoughts on the matter.

It had left him exhausted; he hadn’t eaten much, and he’d slept even less. He’d almost fallen out of the saddle once, to his utter embarrassment. It had taken a bit of quick thinking to explain that one to Evelyn.

Ah, yes. Evelyn.

A part of him wanted to discuss the latest developments in his life with his friend, but another part of him wanted to keep these thoughts to himself. It was safer, his mind urged him, and less messy. But was it? He’d always kept his secrets to himself in Tevinter because he hadn’t had many allies. He’d never known who was in his father’s employ, sent to watch him for any signs of bad behavior. He didn’t have to do that now; Evelyn liked him for who he was. She wouldn’t reveal anything that he told her in confidence.

But old habits died hard.

He ignored the worried glance that she sent in his direction. He would talk to her. Eventually. Maybe. But first he needed to decide what to talk _about_. He didn’t even know where to begin.

He supposed Bull was a good starting point.

The Iron Bull.

Involuntary memories of hot flesh and large hands flooded his senses, and he irritably pushed them away. Their encounter had been on his mind since that night. It was hard not to think about it.

He’d enjoyed it. But he’d also not enjoyed it. And that didn’t make very much sense to him. How could something be both enjoyable and not be enjoyable? The sensations themselves had been very pleasurable; it was sex. So long as it wasn’t forced, it was generally very pleasing. And as far as partners went, Bull had been quite adequate – more than adequate, really. So he’d enjoyed it.

But… he’d wanted more.

And that was the strange part. In the heat of the moment, he’d considered doing things that he wouldn’t have normally considered – intimate things that two people who were just fucking wouldn’t have done. He’d wanted to kiss Bull, touch him, give _him_ pleasure with no thought about his own. It should’ve just been about getting off, right?

Dorian sighed. Perhaps it should have been, but it wasn’t.

How had it come to this?

He’d always had a certain respect for Bull. The Qunari was a very good fighter, and he was fiercely loyal to those he befriended. He worked well in a team, he watched out for Evelyn, and he wasn’t terrible to be around either. Not really. Dorian may have teased him about being a lummox, but he didn’t _actually_ think that. Bull often gave the appearance of loafing around to fool people into thinking that he wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t draw attention to himself so that he could pay attention to others.

Would all of that change, now that Bull had been deemed Tal-Vashoth?

Would Bull change?

He was no longer bound by the demands of the Qun. He _could_ no longer follow the Qun, if one was to believe the priests in Par Vollen. But had Bull truthfully been following the Qun?

It was one of the reasons Dorian had such a difficult time interpreting Bull’s actions. He was a Qunari – or he had been – but he didn’t act like one of them. He’d never once praised the superiority of the Qun as a philosophy. He'd befriended many people in Skyhold, getting to know their personal stories and spending time with them in the tavern. He wasn't eschewing them, acting as if he was only there because of his duties. Nor did he actively speak out against what his society deemed inappropriate behavior. Such as mages walking around freely.

In fact, he’d never said one bad thing about Dorian.

Not one.

Perhaps that was why Dorian actually found himself liking Bull. He had always had some respect for the Qunari; you respected a worthwhile opponent. Many people living in Tevinter had some forth of grudging respect for the society they were almost constantly fighting. But not very many people liked the Qunari. Bull was different. Here was a man whom he not only respected, but whom he’d grown to like.

And that was what scared him the most. That was the crux of the issue. Not only did he respect Bull, and not only was he attracted to Bull. He _liked_ him. Things never ended well when he liked somebody.

* * * * *

“Have I ever told you about my father?”

Evelyn paused mid-bite, the spoon of stew falling away from her mouth. Dorian, sitting across from her at the small table, was playing with his food absently, picking a bite of stew up only to watch it fall off the edge and plop down to join the rest in the bowl. He’d not eaten much since they’d left the Storm Coast; he’d kept to himself too, riding away from the rest of their party in a stoic sort of silence. She’d wondered at that, but Dorian was the type who sometimes needed space. Recognizing that, she’d given it to him.

But it appeared he was done being silent.

She set her spoon down, giving him her full attention. “No, I don’t think you have,” she replied.

“Halward Pavus, magister of the Tevinter Imperium and lord of Asariel,” Dorian said. His eyes were dark, scornful even. “Occasional blood mage.” He paused, and then his eyes flickered up to Evelyn. “You have to know, my dear, that life in Tevinter is not quite what it is here. As labyrinthine as the Game of Orlais is, it is much more deadly in Tevinter. At least the mages in Thedas aren’t practicing blood mage behind the drapes.”

“I thought that blood magic was condemned by the Chantry,” she said, frowning. “Even your Chantry.”

“Oh, it is,” Dorian agreed. “Publically. But what happens in the cellar stays in the cellar. And trust me when I say that there is a _lot_ that happens in the cellars of Tevinter.”

“Is your father a criminal then?”

The mage snorted. “No more than any power-seeking mage in the Imperium is,” he said. “You see, unlike southerners, Tevinter takes pride in its mages. But it’s more than that, much more than that. Tevinter breeds its mages carefully, always seeking to create stronger, more powerful mages. They do this, of course, through arranged marriages.”

She nodded. That much made sense to her, based on what she knew of Tevinter. She motioned for her friend to continue.

“I… was expected to follow in this tradition,” he said slowly, pausing to take a drink of his wine. “My father had a lovely girl picked out for me. She hated me.”

“Now who could possibly hate you?” Evelyn asked, teasing. She smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood; she was rewarded with a small smirk in return.

“I wholeheartedly return your sentiments,” he agreed. “But I hated her too. She may have had a pretty face, but she was truly dreadful.” He shook his head in distaste. “What a fine marriage we would have made – attending parties together only to scowl at each other across the ballroom.” He snorted.

“As you know, however, I’m not particularly inclined towards women in fancy dresses,” he continued. “So I refused to marry her.”

“Your father was upset?” Evelyn guessed.

“Livid,” Dorian said, nodding. “He’d been working on this marriage for years, as it turned out. And in one fell swoop, one fit of temper, I took all of that work, threw it on the ground and stomped on it.” He paused. “It is selfish, I suppose. Not to want to spend my entire life screaming on the inside.”

“It’s not selfish to refuse to compromise who you are,” Evelyn said firmly.

That earned her a much larger, truer smile. Dorian reached over and patted her arm warmly. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he said.

“What, it’s not because of how pretty I am?” she asked innocently.

“That does work in your favor,” he admitted.

Their conversation lapsed then, and she took a few moments to resume eating. Dorian, to her delight, began eating as well. She’d worried about him over the past few days. It was good that he was starting to act like his old self again.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked, tearing off a hunk of bread from their shared loaf.

“Is it something naughty?” he shot back, eyes twinkling.

“Not this time,” she replied. “Your father… why mention him to me? I mean…” She paused, thinking of the right words to use. “Is there a particular reason you brought him up?”

“Yes.” Dorian’s voice was short, clipped, but it wasn’t angry. She looked up at him expectantly, noting the struggle in his face. Was he having difficulty finding the words? Was it difficult to say? It had to be serious then; Dorian was normally so glib. “I’ve… never actually been in a relationship.”

She blinked. “ _Never_?” Her voice sounded harsher than she meant it to, so she sent her friend an apologetic look.

“I tried,” Dorian said quickly. “There was one man, Rilienius…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It never came to be. My father had a maddening habit of discovering my infatuations and putting a stop to them before they ever came to be anything. It was disgraceful, he said.”

“That you like the company of men?” she asked, surprised. It wasn’t such an odd thing in Ostwick; nor, from what she could tell, was it condemned here in the south. It could potentially be used against you, if society judged you were fraternizing with the wrong person, but it wasn’t shameful.

“Not entirely,” Dorian said. “No one cares who you fuck behind closed doors. It’s always been that way, in every country. But I was very public with my pursuits, very open. I’m not very good at being silent.”

“No,” she agreed, smiling bemusedly. “You aren’t.”

“My father didn’t like that, and so he always hushed everything up,” the mage continued. “It’s perhaps why it is so difficult for me to engage in relationships even now that I’m here, away from his influence. The negative connotations refuse to elude my thoughts.”

“Why you were so eager to make that list,” Evelyn guessed. It made sense now – Dorian really _hadn’t_ been looking for a relationship. She’d thought that she wasn’t either, but she wasn’t so sure now. Could she have done that? Gone into a sexual encounter with no expectations save pleasure? She didn’t know.

“Exactly!” He took a drink of his wine, covering a sheepish look with the rim of his glass. “I'm picky, but I wasn't looking for someone to buy a house with. However… things change.” He twirled the stem of the glass in his fingers, observing the play of the liquid against the glass. 

She tilted her head, noting the cautious expression in his eyes. “What does that mean?” she asked quietly.

“There’s something I must tell you,” the mage said quietly. He looked down into his lap then, as if he were afraid to meet her eyes, afraid of what he’d see. Was he embarrassed? Concerned?

“Yes?” she prompted when the silence dragged on.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped short by a large hand clapping down on his shoulder. Dorian looked up then. Bull was standing there, a determined expression on his face. “Hey, Boss,” he said lightly. “Mind if I speak to Dorian for a moment?”

Evelyn blinked in surprise. Dorian had a strange expression on his face, heat tinting his olive cheeks. Bull wasn’t even looking at her; his eye was fixed on Dorian. “Sure,” she said absently, still watching the exchange between their faces, the emotions play out beneath their eyes.

“Thanks, Boss,” Bull said. “I’ll have him back in a few.” He pulled Dorian to his feet and away from the common room of the inn, back towards where their rented rooms were. Dorian moved like one in a trance.

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed as the door to Bull’s room shut with a soft click.

Now what was that all about?

* * * * *

“Was all of that true?”

Dorian blinked at the soft, inquisitive nature of the question. Bull was staring at him, introspective. He’d seated himself on a small chair after closing the door, his posture non-threatening and vaguely friendly. “Was all of what true?” he asked cautiously. He didn’t know what was on Bull’s mind; the man hadn’t said a word to him in the four days since they’d left the coast. He wasn’t sure of what to expect.

“Everything you said to Boss,” Bull clarified. “About your father.”

Dorian scowled at him. “Were you eavesdropping?” he demanded. That had been a private conversation! He crossed his arms over his chest, huffing. This was another reason he’d hated living in Tevinter; there were ears everywhere, always, _always_ listening in on him, ready to report him to his father. It had been maddening, like living in a gilded cage. He saw no reason to put up with it here.

“You weren’t keeping your voice down,” Bull replied. “I thought it was a casual conversation.”

“It was, but…” Dorian sighed. “Oh, never mind. Yes, it was true.”

Bull seemed to consider this for a moment, mulling this new information over. Dorian waited patiently for him to say something else, perhaps to speak on why he’d dragged him from the common room. _And my food_ , he thought, his stomach rumbling indignantly. He put a hand to his stomach in guilt; he really should have been eating more. It was foolish to ignore basic human needs because of turbulent emotions. But he hadn't felt like eating. He hadn't even felt like  _talking_ , and that was saying something for an extrovert like him.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Bull said quietly. “That sounds… difficult.”

Dorian froze at the unexpected words. Bull wasn’t one for being overly sentimental, so the fact that he was being empathetic… he didn’t know what to make of it. Once again, the Qunari was confusing him; the juxtaposition of how a Qunari _should_ act and how Bull _was_ acting was throwing him off.

But then again... was Bull truly a Qunari anymore? How did his exile work? It would be callous of him to ask. 

“It was,” he said finally. It was a rather lame response, but more meaningful words were escaping him at the moment.

“Is this why you’re afraid of commitment?”

“What?” Dorian asked, snorting. “ _Me_ , afraid of commitment?”

“Aren't you?” Bull asked. He had stood up now, taking a few cautious steps toward Dorian. It was if he were afraid Dorian would bolt if he pushed too hard.

It was a very logical assumption.

“I’m not afraid of commitment,” Dorian said. “I’m…”

“Tell me.”

“It’s the idea of commitment itself,” the mage said finally. He leaned back against the wall, propping a foot out to hold himself up. “People get… taken away from me. Or they did. I don’t like that. Who would?” He shook his head. “Or maybe I won’t be able to control myself, were I to be in an actual relationship. Maybe I wouldn't be able to resist other... dalliances that came along. It's certainly a common enough thing in Minrathrous. But I don't want to be like that. I've never wanted to be like _them._ ”

“Yeah. Temptation.”

Bull stopped a couple of feet away from him. Dorian chanced a glance up at him, and was surprised at what he saw. There was understanding in that single brown eye. But how could that be? Surely Bull had never been in a similar situation…? But no, he needed to give the other more credit than that. There was so much he didn’t know about Bull. It would be wrong to assume. He had to stop that.

“Is that why you left the other night?” Bull’s voice was quiet, barely more than a murmur. "To protect yourself?"

“I…” Dorian suddenly found the thought of lying a rather vain exercise. Surely his thoughts were written all over his face. Nor was this a person from whom he could so easily obscure the truth. He couldn't lie to Bull and say that it hadn't been about self-preservation. He couldn't say that it hadn't been about purposefully keeping the two of them at arm's length, away from his heart and feelings.

Feelings were dangerous. 

“Do you regret it?”

Bull’s question hit him like a punch to the jaw. He stared at the other, trying to gauge the other’s reaction. But it was impossible, of course. It was always impossible.

“No,” he whispered. “No, I don’t.”

Bull pulled back, apparently satisfied, and the question was pulled from Dorian’s mouth before he could register that he’d spoken.

“Do you?”

“No,” Bull growled; Dorian was taken aback at the fierceness to his reply. “That was…”

“I know.”

Bull stared at him for a moment, as if wondering if he really _did_ know. But Dorian met his eye head-on, refusing to look down. After a few moments, the Qunari nodded, laying a hand on the mage’s shoulder. He squeezed the muscles there softly, a gesture that Dorian had seen him use with the Chargers.

He smiled involuntarily, a slow, hesitant smile that did wonders to ease the troubled thoughts in his head.

Bull returned the grin, giving his shoulder one final squeeze before heading back out to the common room.

Dorian stayed where he was for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. He’d thought that this conversation – and he’d known that it would happen eventually – would have gone much worse. He’d assumed it would be awkward, painful even. But… he’d been pleasantly surprised. Had four days really been enough for Bull’s thoughts to clear?

No. It was much too soon for that. But it was certainly enough time for him to start coming to grips with his changed status. After all, it had been enough for Dorian to come to the conclusion that this thing with Bull was different from anything he’d ever experienced before.

He didn’t know what to call it.

He didn’t know what it meant.

But it beyond time that he began to acknowledge that something was happening. He wasn’t certain of much with the Iron Bull, but of this, he was absolutely sure.

He sighed.

Oh, Evelyn was going to love this.

* * * * *

“No, no, no,” Cassandra said irritably, scratching out an entire paragraph with her pen. “This is no good. You cannot write him this.”

Evelyn sighed, snatching the paper back across the table. She scowled when she saw the full extent of the Seeker’s editing. “Cassandra, you’ve crossed out almost everything I’d written!” she protested.

“It was not good enough,” the Seeker said stubbornly, crossing her arms across her breasts. “You must be romantic!”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “Romantic or downright ribald?” she demanded. “You seem to think the two are one in the same.”

Cassandra had the grace to flush. “I may be too blunt at times,” she admitted.

“At times?” Evelyn repeated, snorting. That was too good. She’d have to tell Varric that. He’d see the humor in it.

“Enough about me,” the Seeker snapped. “You are being too cautious!” She pulled out Cullen’s letter, the edges beginning to fray from its near constant spot in Evelyn’s pocket. “This is a letter from a man who desperately wants you! Respond to it likewise!”

“I don’t know that I’m comfortable writing such things,” Evelyn admitted, twirling her pen around in her fingers. Erotic love letters weren’t something she had much experience in, honestly. Invitations to an afternoon tea? Done. Polite inquiries about the state of affairs of one’s marriage? Done. Aggressive missive telling nobles to stop encroaching upon the Inquisition’s camps? Done!

But in this, a simple love letter, her courage failed her.

It was why she’d asked Cassandra for help. The woman had immediately taken this letter on as a personal quest, a crusade for love.

“Just write what you feel!”

What did she feel?

She felt… warm around Cullen, safe. It was so easy to talk to him, so easy to pretend that there weren’t urgent matters waiting for her as soon as their conversation stopped. It was so easy to believe that they were just two people who enjoyed each other’s company.

It wasn’t just companionate warmth. Her cheeks flushed at the memories of his proximity, what his mere smell had done to her. She could melt in the intensity of his gaze as he peered at her. It made her want to kiss him, made her want to drag his head down to hers so that she could bite at his lips and taste him.

But how did she put that into words without sounding… perverse? Would it be perverse? Would he think that of her… or would he like it?

“You are over thinking this,” Cassandra said suddenly. She handed Evelyn a fresh sheet of paper. “Just write. Let the words come to you naturally.”

Evelyn nodded, pulling the page towards her. She hesitated just a moment, her pen standing over the ink well.

With one last sigh, she dipped her pen in the well and began to write.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also wanted to end this chapter on a happier note :) A sign of better things to come.
> 
> Thanks to all who've stuck with me so far!


	14. The Reunion

It was a cold, bitter night in Skyhold.

Dark clouds obscured the moon and the stars, threatening to spill snow down upon the mountainside. A swift breeze tugged at Cullen’s cloak and hair as he stood upon the ramparts, staring down at the river frozen so far beneath them. This type of weather could teach you to separate the Fereldans from the Orlesians – the former found this type of weather normal, if a bit bracing. The latter bemoaned the cold with their every breath.

Personally, he found the air invigorating. It was likely because he’d been cooped up in his office all day, a stark change from the past few weeks he’d spent traveling to and from Adamant. After so long in the field, the hours of writing reports seemed tortuous. Maker, he’d leapt at the opportunity to watch the newest recruits _bludgeon_ each other half to death with blunted swords. Normally, such an activity would have irritated him to no end.

He wished he could’ve stayed in the field. He knew that he was more useful here at Skyhold, but something about actual, physical labor with the rest of the men made him feel infinitely more valuable. Here, away from the front lines, he felt somewhat stifled.

Cullen envied Evelyn of all the time that she got to spend out of doors. Of course, she had much to do to restore order to Thedas – closing rifts, hunting down those Venatori cultists, searching for clues as to Corypheus’ whereabouts. It was no walk in the park. He worried for her safety each time that she left, a worry that had been growing of late as their relationship shifted.

But surely she had more fun out there than he did calculating troop movements.

“Ser!”

Cullen looked up as a messenger approached him. The woman was walking fast, an arm clutched around her body for warmth and her teeth chattering. Orlesian, then.

She handed him the paper clutched in her gloved hands. “M-message for you!” she said. “It’s f-from the I-inquisitor!”

He nodded in thanks, suppressing the thrill that ran through him to stuff the letter into a pocket. It was far too windy to read it out here; it’d likely get stolen by a stray gust, and blown down the walls to land on the rocks below. “Go to the tavern and warm up some,” he advised the girl. “Ask for the honey wine – it helps with the chills.”

“T-thank you, ser!” the messenger replied gratefully. She scampered off in the direction of the Herald’s Rest, moving as quickly as her feet would take her.

Cullen headed in the same direction, though he stayed atop the ramparts that led to his office. He had to force himself to keep his normal pace; all he wanted to do was run back to the room, lock the doors and read the letter over and over again like a lovesick boy. He snorted at the thought; he was far too old for that to be an appropriate action.

And yet it was what he desperately wanted to do.

He maintained his control all of the way back to his office, where he firmly shut the doors and headed up to his living space. He then took the letter from his pocket and gently laid it upon the bed. His name was emblazoned across the envelope in Evelyn’s fine, delicate script.

He took a deep breath before beginning the process of removing his armor. He took his time, trying to calm himself before reading the letter. He set his gear neatly aside, eyes locked upon his bed, as he moved on to his gloves and boots. He even removed his shirt, nervous heat already making him break out into a sweat.

Finally, when he had nothing left to do with himself, he sat down upon the bed and tentatively opened the letter. His found that his fingers were trembling as they tore through the wax seal. He smoothed the paper against a leg and took a deep breath before he began to read.

_Cullen,_

_I hope that this letter finds you well. I am writing you from a small inn a day’s hard ride south of Crestwood. The rains were particularly hard by the coast, and I felt we deserved a small respite when it presented itself to us._

_We should be back to Skyhold by the week’s end. I hope the weather is good for the road. Maker, but I miss you._

_You… mentioned that you would not speak of all of the things that you wished to do to me. I very much wish that you would. I would love to hear all of the things that you want to do to me. I believe I want the same things. I believe that I very much want those things. In fact, I believe I desperately desire them. I want you to touch me the way you think I deserve to be touched, the way… how did you put it? How a woman deserves to be touched?_

_I wish to know what you think I deserve._

_Suffice it to say that I cannot stop thinking of you either, Cullen Rutherford, and I promise you that not all of my thoughts are chaste._

_The next time we meet, I will not hesitate to kiss you._

_Keep an eye on the horizon for me._

_Yours,_  
_Evelyn_

He laid back into the bed, groaning. Maker, but the things this woman was doing to him! She wasn’t even _here_ , and her words had stirred his cock to life. It wasn’t going to be enough; he knew, even as he reached for the drawstring to his pants, that simply relieving himself of the ache in his groin wasn’t going to be enough until she was there with him. Mere thoughts of her body, entwined with his and slick with sweat, weren’t going to be enough.

He needed her here in his arms, where he could show her how he felt. He needed to wring delicious moans from her lips and shudders from her spine as he touched her, pleasured her, _tasted_ her.

He groaned, pulling his cock out of his pants and into his waiting hand. That Evelyn had admitted to having dirty thoughts about him… he stroked himself hard, fantasizing about what she liked, what would drive her crazy. Would he get the chance to find out for himself?

He hoped so.

It didn’t take long before he was climaxing into his hand, settling back into the sheets as his breath stilled. The sweat that coated his body was cooling now, the heat coaxed away by the cool night air wafting in from the hole in his roof. He absently wiped himself off before shrugging out of the rest of his clothes.

Just as he’d thought, it wasn’t enough. Lust still surged through his body like a fever. He sighed, looking to the window. It was still dark – of course it was. It hadn’t been half an hour since the messenger had found him on the ramparts. He couldn’t even see the horizon from his quarters.

He rolled over, half pulling a sheet over his naked frame. There was nothing for it. Even Evelyn was likely tucked in a bed somewhere. He wished it was his bed; how he would love to wake up to her in the morning, curled up against his body like a cat.

He smiled. What a lovely thought to fall asleep to.

* * * * *

“You did _what?”_

Evelyn brought her hands to her temples, trying to absorb this information. Dorian opened his mouth to speak, and she quickly forestalled him. “No! Wait! When did you say this happened?”

“Oh, it hasn’t been that long,” the mage said, waving a hand. “Just… a week.”

“A week?” Evelyn repeated, her voice shooting up an octave on the second word. “This happened a week ago, and you’re just _now_ telling me?” She shot him an offended look. How rude! Why, had anything happened between her and Cullen, Dorian would be the first to know!

He huffed at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, as you may recall, I tried to tell you,” he snapped. “The other night at the inn? I was interrupted!”

Oh. That had been what he was going to tell her? She tried to remember their conversation, recalling each and every word they’d shared. It had mainly been about Dorian’s father and his controlling behavior. And they’d started talking about relationships…

“You said ‘things change’,” she said, looking up at Dorian sharply. “Did you mean… you and Bull?”

Dorian hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Now, don’t count go counting your nugs before a dwarven festival!” he said, seeing the excited grin that broke out across her face. “Nothing has happened.”

“Other than sex,” she pointed out.

“Yes, other than sex,” he said, a touch of snark in his voice.

“But _is_ something going to happen?” she persisted. That would be wonderful – if a bit unexpected. She never would have pegged those two getting together. Of course, she also hadn’t thought to see Blackwall and Josephine exchanging clandestine kisses in the stables, and she’d seen that several times now.

“I don’t know,” he replied, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “I haven’t really talked to him about it.”

“Not at all?”

“One conversation. But that hardly counts, considering I could count the number of times Bull spoke on one hand.”

“Hmm.” Evelyn drummed her fingers against her knee as she thought about this latest development. She couldn’t help but wonder if Bull’s timing had anything to do with his exile; was he now doing things that he’d restrained himself from doing before? But no, he’d been dallying with the serving girls for months now, letting them all “ride the Bull” as he so charmingly put it. If he’d wanted to romance Dorian, he’d had gone for it.

So why… now?

“Do you know what you want?” she asked slowly, shifting her focus back to Dorian.

“I think I do,” he replied, equally as slowly. “Maybe. Perhaps. Fasta vass, I don’t know.”

“… why?”

“Honestly? Because it terrifies me,” Dorian snorted.

“What about it?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Sex is one thing,” he explained. “I’m comfortable with sex – very comfortable. I’m quite good at it too, if I do say so myself!” He flashed a weak grin at her. “But the thought of being committed to someone for an extended period of time?” He shook his head. “That’s scarier than any demon we’ve met in the field.”

“I don’t think it will be as bad as you fear,” Evelyn said lightly. “And your father isn’t here to mess things up for you.”

“You’re sure he’s not hiding in the drapes?” Dorian asked, looking around suspiciously. She snorted and waved a hand dismissively at him. “It’s still odd – not being around him. I know that, logically, he cannot do anything to me while I’m here. And yet… a part of me will always be looking over my shoulder to check for him.”

She laid a sympathetic hand on her friend’s arm, unsure of what to say in response. She’d never had anything like that happen to her. There had been family members who disapproved of how flirtatious she was with boys, and there had definitely been people who had spurned her attitude towards the noble lifestyle. Her mother sprung to mind. But her mother also hadn’t tried to change everything about who she was. She’d just tried to impress upon her that she had duties as a member of the Trevelyan household.

Of course, that had all changed when she became the lone survivor of the Conclave. Her parents now wholeheartedly supported her endeavors with the Inquisition; what else could they do? Personally, she thought her mother was relieved that she no longer had to procure a marriage contract for her feisty daughter. Now that she was someone else’s problem, her mother was free to be pleasant.

Dorian sighed. “It’s no matter,” he said. “I’ll work my way through this.” He stood, stretching. “We should head to our tents. I believe we’ll make it back to Skyhold tomorrow.” He winked at her deviously. “And I think a certain blonde Commander will be quite happy to see you.”

She flushed, but shot her friend back a smile. She had a sneaking suspicion that he was right – oh, how she hoped he was right.

Would Cullen be waiting for her at the gates? Had he eagerly waited for her return, watching out his window for the dust clouds their horses’ hooves would stir up? The thought of him waiting for her warmed her as she moved to the tent she shared with Cassandra.

She attempted to be quiet as she removed her leathers and settled into the bedroll. Cassandra was already deep asleep, an arm thrown back behind her head. Evelyn lightly moved it out of the way before she rolled over on her side, facing away from her friend.

She hoped that she would be able to sleep tonight; her whole body was alight with nervous energy. It was the same feeling she got when she was about to leave for an important mission. But it also a different kind of energy, because this time there weren’t angry varghests or wyverns waiting for her.

Cullen was waiting for her. And that was much, much better.

* * * * *

It was getting to be very late, and there was still no sign of her.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, looking down at the causeway that connected Skyhold to the mountain road. There had been reports that the Inquisitor and her companions would make it back to the fortress today. He’d spent more time than he should have patrolling the ramparts over the gates for the slightest sign that she’d made it. But his efforts had all been in vain. There was no sign of Evelyn.

Sighing, he began to make his way back to his office. She’d never come back if he sat at the gate like a puppy waiting for its master to return. He might as well get some work done while he waited.

He pushed away the thought of something going wrong. They weren’t far, and he had Inquisition soldiers patrolling these mountains both day and night. What could have happened to her that wouldn’t have been seen? Surely if there had been a struggle, he’d had been notified by now. No, they were likely just running late. Perhaps they’d had a late start in the morning.

Cullen sat down at his desk heavily, pulling a report towards him. He tried to read it, but he kept getting distracted and losing his place; then he’d have to go back to the start and begin reading anew. It was maddening. After two more attempts, he sighed and irritably pushed the report away.

As if he could get any work done knowing that Evelyn was returning to him shortly.

Still… it was very late.

He stood and made his way over to the ladder, clambering easily to the top. His candles were burning low again, leaving very little light to see by. He’d have to remember to get some more from the quartermaster tomorrow.

He removed his armor before walking over to the washbasin, pouring some water into the bowl from the ewer. It was like ice as he splashed it up into his face, but it helped to clear his thoughts. He let the water run over his face for a moment, sensing each tiny rivulet as it traveled across his skin, before grabbing a towel and wiping his face clean.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in his mirror then, giving him pause. He’d been sleeping better of late, and the dark circles under his eyes had lifted somewhat. It made him appear more youthful, more like his actual age. He feared he’d been looking rather haggard for a few weeks there.

He fingered a golden curl, scowling at it as it bounced away from him disobediently. He’d have to do something about that. Soon. He hated it when his hair got too long – it became entirely unmanageable.

Not unlike Evelyn’s, he thought wryly. His mouth twisted up into a smirk as he thought of the mass of ebony tresses that crowned her head. She was constantly fighting it – with braids, elaborate knots at the back of her head, pins and bands. She’d tried everything. So far, nothing seemed to have worked for her.

It was alright though. He quite liked her hair.

He stood up straight as a door banged open below. “Yes?” he called out. There was no reply, and he frowned. Normally, his messengers announced their presence right away with a terse, “Ser!” or “Commander!” This guest was silent.

Cullen walked over to the ledge, looking down.

And there was Evelyn, staring up at him wildly. She had dirt smudged on her face and several twigs caught in her hair. Her clothes were travel stained, and her boots were dusty. She’d likely come straight to his tower. He could smell the scents of horse and leather from here.

But Maker, was she beautiful.

Without asking his permission, Evelyn strode over to the ladder and began to climb. He tried not to stare at her hips as they swayed with the motions of climbing. But of course, it was impossible. She was just too mesmerizing. He watched, transfixed, as she swung a leg up onto the floor, pulling herself up in one, quick movement. She paused then, pushing her hair behind her ears in that adorable fashion of hers.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly.

He smirked. “Hello,” he replied.

“I’m sorry if I smell,” she said quickly. “I… well, we just now got back.”

“No, not at all,” he said, taking a step towards her. “I’m happy that you thought of me first.” Truth be told, she could have been covered in demon ichor and smelled of nug shit, and he’d still have wanted her to come to him first.

She smiled hesitantly. “We got a late start this morning,” she continued, speaking nervously as Cullen drew closer to her. “Dorian couldn’t find his belt.” She started as Cullen put a hand on her arm, drawing her closer to him. She needn’t have worried about her scent – she smelled of earth and horses, with a hint of sweetness that was her own. It was utterly intoxicating. “Can you believe that? Where would he have lost his belt? Oh, that reminds me! He’ll likely need to speak with you tomorrow about something-”

“Evelyn,” Cullen said firmly. She looked up at him, jade eyes wide. He couldn’t help but smile at her actions, at how she was trying to cover her nerves by speaking. It was so endearing.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Hush,” he said. And then he swiftly leaned down and captured her mouth with his.

Evelyn came to life in his hands, instantly pressing closer to him and melding her lips to his. They were soft and pliant, luscious and full. It was even better than his dreams. With a groan, he brought his hands up, placing one upon her back and one behind her neck, cradling her head. She tilted her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss even as her hands snaked up to frame his face.

He nipped at her lip, repeating the idiosyncrasy she’d displayed so many times before, and she gasped a little. He took the opportunity to delve into her mouth, finally getting his chance to taste her. She made a pleased noise as his tongue met hers, her fingernails biting into his skin. He repeated the motion, and a soft moan fell from his lips. He greedily sucked it up, enjoying each little sound that he wrangled from her body. They went straight to his cock, igniting his lust.

Cullen kissed her with abandon then, trying to convey how much he had missed her in the simple movements of his lips. Evelyn’s breath was coming quickly now; her hands moved down his neck to his shirt, fiddling with the buttons ineffectually.

She drew back, panting. “Why does your shirt have buttons?” she demanded.

He chuckled. “I believe most shirts have buttons,” he reminded her.

“Damn them all!” she snapped, using the moment to focus on getting all of the buttons undone. He brushed her hair behind her ear and leaned in, kissing the skin by its side gently. He heard Evelyn’s sharp intake of breath and grinned against her skin, kissing the same spot again. “Stop that,” she murmured, swatting at him with a hand.

“Why?” he asked. “You seem to like it very much.”

She jerked back them, staring at him hard. “I can’t think when you do that,” she admitted.

“I don’t want you to think,” he said firmly. And then he leaned back in and sucked her earlobe between his teeth. She nearly buckled at the knees, clutching at his arms as he continued to lick at the sensitive flesh. It undid her, leaving her trembling in his grasp. When he broke away to look at her again, her eyes were heavy and lidded, the green of her irises nearly all the way faded to black.

She blinked several times, as if reorienting herself, and then scowled at him. “I told you not to do that!” she snapped, resuming her work on the buttons of his shirt.

“You liked it,” he smirked. She slipped the last button through its hole before stepping back and sticking her tongue out at him. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Someone’s feeling mischievous tonight.”

She watched hungrily as he removed the shirt, letting it fall to the floor. She caught her lower lip between her teeth again, and he very nearly pounced. “There are many things I’m feeling right now,” she said, voice low, “but mischievous isn’t very high on the list.”

He couldn’t help the sense of pride that rushed through him at knowing _he_ did this to her. It was silly, perhaps, but also elating to think that she wanted _him_ , and not anyone else.

Cullen reached out a hand and drew her to him once more, steering them towards the bed this time. He sat down when he had reached the edge, pulling her atop his lap. She slid onto his legs liquidly, framing his solid, muscular thighs with her smaller, lithe ones.

“There’s a list?” he asked, smirking as her hands reached out and began tracing the planes of his chest with gentle, slightly hesitant touches. He leaned forward to press a kiss to the hollow at the base of her throat.

“Mmmm,” she replied, moving down his stomach. Her hands flitted to the top of his pants, and his cock twitched in response. But then she was moving back upwards, her fingers like feathers against his heated skin.

“What are you feeling right now, then?” he murmured. His hands moved to the back of her leathers, trying to find the catches that would release her jerkin.

“Happy,” she breathed. He found a buckle and undid it; the jerkin slipped a little loose around her frame. “Excited.” Another buckle, a little looser. Her eyes flashed as she moved to tilt his head back so they were looking at each other again. “Desirous.” He groaned, and made quick work of the last two buckles. Evelyn quickly shrugged it off, revealing her perfect, round breasts.

She flushed slightly at Cullen’s scrutiny, but she needn’t have been self-conscious. They were the most perfect breasts he’d ever seen – not because they were the biggest, or the shapeliest, or the perkiest, but because they were _hers_. The woman for whom he was rapidly developing sincere, romantic feelings like he'd never experienced before. He reached a hand out to palm one breast, and she arched into him. He repeated the motion, kneading the warm mound with his strong hands. She jerked when his fingers found a nipple, rolling it gently to a point and then pinching it.

“Do that again,” she said breathily.

Who was he to deny such a beautiful woman such a small thing?

She mewled against him, writhing in his lap. He felt his cock stiffen in his trousers as her motions, and he half wondered if she was doing it on purpose. But her head was thrown back in pleasure as he continued to tug at her breasts, oblivious to all but the sensations no doubt coursing through her.

He leaned forward then, replacing one of his hands with his mouth, and she rocked against him, hard. “Maker’s breath!” she murmured, rising up to give him more access. He sucked harder on the bud in his mouth, and she shuddered.

He switched to her other breast then, not wishing to be neglectful. She took the moment to fist her hands in his hair, running her fingers through the curls that were beginning to form. “I didn’t know your hair was curly,” she murmured, gasping as he flicked his tongue against her.

“I need to get it cut,” he murmured, too intent on his work to give her a better response.

“No, don’t,” she murmured. “I like-” She broke off with a moan as he simultaneously sucked one nipple and pinched the other. “I like it!”

He drew back, frowning up at her. “You do?” he asked.

She smiled shyly at him. “Yes,” she replied.

He hesitated, and she took the opportunity to tip them backwards onto the bed, catching herself on her hands. He stared up at her, his face framed by a dark curtain of hair, before his eyes flicked down to her pendulous breasts. He swallowed a curse as his cock throbbed almost painfully at the sight of them.

“Maybe I’ll let it grow then,” he allowed. The smile she sent him was heavenly, and he groaned. He flipped her then, moving them more solidly onto the bed and pressing down into her. “If it makes you happy.”

“Yes,” she breathed – though whether that was in response to what he’d said or the sensation of his cock pressing against her core, he couldn’t tell. He rocked down again, and she moaned again, clutching at his back.

He leaned down, pressing kisses against the column of her neck. She squirmed beneath him, instinctively spreading her legs as he moved further south, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses all over her body. He stopped just below her navel, teasing her. She made a frustrated noise and tried to push his head lower.

“So impatient,” he chuckled against her skin.

“Can you blame me?” she asked. No. No, he could not. He reached down swiftly to undo the button to her trousers.

One of the doors banged open then. “Inquisitor! Commander!”

Evelyn froze against him, tensing up at the familiar voice of the Inquisition’s ambassador. Neither of them said anything, hoping that perhaps Josephine would leave if she got no response.

“Please, do not make me come up there!”

No such luck. Cullen sighed and sat back on his haunches. “Yes, Josephine?” he asked. Evelyn sat up grumpily, hiding her breasts with her arms. Cullen shot her an apologetic look, but she merely made a pouting face.

“I am truly sorry to bother you at this late hour,” Josephine replied. And to her credit, she really did sound guilty. “But we have just received an invitation to the Winter Palace at Halamshiral for the peace accords. Duke Gaspard de Chalons has invited you as his personal guest.”

Cullen turned to Evelyn sharply, recognizing the importance of such a gesture. She saw that too, reluctantly moving to retrieve her jerkin. “We’ll be right there, Josie!” she called out.

“We await you in the war room!” Josephine called back. The door clicked as she left the tower.

Cullen sighed and went to retrieve his shirt, throwing it haphazardly over his head. He heard Evelyn doing the same with her leathers, the buckles clinking together as she redid them.

“What terrible timing,” she muttered.

He had to agree. He was still painfully hard in his trousers, and he had no doubt that Evelyn was in an equally uncomfortable position. He turned to face her, stuffing his shirt back into his pants. Evelyn was fighting the last buckle, annoyance clear on her face. “Here,” he murmured, moving to help her. Her flailing hands stilled as he did the buckle. “Let me.”

"Thank you,” she murmured. She turned to face him then with a sigh. “Well, this went… wonderfully, didn’t it?”

“There’s never a dull moment in Skyhold,” he agreed.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I should’ve known Josie would want to meet.”

He shook his head. “You couldn’t have known that Gaspard’s invitation would arrive today,” he reminded her.

“Still,” Evelyn said; her bottom lip was jutting out rather adorably, and he had to fight the urge to kiss it. “I didn’t want to… be interrupted.”

He did kiss her then, a short but heated kiss conveying how much he felt the same.

“To be continued?” he murmured.

She nodded fervently. “To be continued.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to hide behind something so no one throws anything at me for interrupting another smexy scene *hides* 
> 
> But thank you for reading! :) I appreciate all your kind words so far! :D You all are the best!


	15. The Consummation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More minor canon divergence here! Long chapter alert :)
> 
> This chapter too is NSFW :) I hope this somewhat makes up for my evil stunt last chapter!

“Josie, what is this?”

Josephine blinked at her, as if she were confused by the question. “It is a dress, Inquisitor,” she said.

Evelyn snorted. “I’m aware it’s a dress,” she replied. “What is it doing on me?”

“You are to attend an Orlesian ball,” Josephine reminded her primly. “A lady wears a dress to a ball.”

“But I’m not a lady,” Evelyn persisted. “I’m the Inquisitor!”

“You are also Lady Evelyn Trevelyan of Ostwick.”

“You won’t be wearing a dress!” Evelyn snapped, pointing to the red fabric soon to be made into uniforms lying atop one of her couches. “Why do you get to wear those, and I have to wear this?” She motioned at the various layers of silk and velvet that were being pinned together by the seamstress.

“Do you not like the style?”

“Well, no…” In fact, she rather liked it. It was a soft green number, the neckline plunging down to where the fabric draped around her figure before fanning out around her feet. She couldn’t place the fashion, but it did wonders for her willowy figure, allowing her more curves than she naturally had. It would require some tricky maneuvering, lest she expose more of herself to the Orlesian court than she was keen on, but it was a beautiful dress nonetheless.

“Then I confess that I do not see the problem.”

“The entire point of going to this ball is to protect Empress Celene,” Evelyn explained. “How am I supposed to protect her… in a dress?”

“Very carefully.”

“Oh, you’re _so_ funny,” Evelyn snapped. Why did all of her friends insist on being droll? Did she bring it out in them?

“I am having an extra uniform prepared for you,” Josephine said, hiding a smirk behind a carefully placed hand. “You may change clothing, should you pursue any activities that require more… freedom of movement.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow at her. “Am I supposed to take something from that?”

“You may take it as you wish,” the Antivan said lightly. “Though I would advise that you be on your best behavior in front of the Empress. She can be either a great ally or a terrible enemy, and I would much prefer the former.”

“What do you think I’m going to do, spit in the punch bowl?” Evelyn demanded.

“Of course not.” Josephine walked over to a pile of potential shoe selections, setting her writing board down next to them. She picked out several pairs and brought them over for Evelyn to peruse. “But Cullen will be there as well, and there is no telling what kind of trouble the two of you may get into.” Her brown eyes were twinkling with glee as she pushed forward a pair of satin slippers.

“You’re evil,” Evelyn snorted. “First, you interrupt me and Cullen, and now you’re suggesting that I want to seduce him into joining me in an Orlesian broom closet?” She shook her head to the slippers.

“It is what I would do,” Josie admitted, leaning forward secretively as she displayed the next pair of shoes.

Evelyn giggled at the thought of her polished ambassador returning from a tussle with Blackwall in a spare room. She could imagine it now – the Antivan’s cheeks stained red and her hair mussed, Blackwall looking proud as an eagle. Or maybe a griffon was more appropriate.

It was tempting, she admitted. Heat rose in her cheeks at the thought of being in such an enclosed space with her handsome Commander. Pressed tight against him, having to use her sense of touch in the lack of light…

But Andraste’s tits, if she had to wait until the ball before she had Cullen, she was going to murder someone.

* * * * *

“So tell me,” Dorian mused. “When did you know that you had feelings for Evelyn?”

Cullen looked up from the chessboard. Dorian was surveying the field carefully, looking for his next move. “I don’t know that there was any one particular moment,” he admitted.

“No?” the mage asked. He reached to move a knight, looking quite happy with himself.

Cullen was all too happy to take the knight with his bishop. He chuckled when his friend instantly scowled at him. “I can’t say there was,” he said. “It just sort of… happened.”

“How boring,” Dorian huffed.

“I’m sorry I’m not more entertaining.”

“You should be,” the mage said. “All people should aim for my ultimate amusement.” He sighed as he contemplated what to do with his chess pieces. Cullen had him trapped; he’d been trying to get out of the bad position for at least ten minutes now, and he wasn’t having much success. He moved a pawn boldly, testing Cullen’s strategy in that direction.

Cullen didn’t take the bait. Now that he had Dorian on the defensive, he moved more aggressively with his pieces. Within five moves, he’d put the other in checkmate. Dorian crossed his arms over his chest and shot him a dark look. “Problem?” Cullen asked, smirking.

“You shouldn’t smirk so much,” the mage snapped. “Your face will get stuck that way.”

“Then don’t lose so much.”

“Have you slept with Evelyn yet?”

The abrupt question surprised Cullen. “What?” he asked stupidly.

Dorian sighed. “Is it really that difficult a question to comprehend?” he drawled.

“No, it’s just… well, you changed the subject rather quickly.”

“I tend to do that when the conversation isn’t favoring me,” the mage allowed. He raised an eyebrow at Cullen. “So? Have you?”

“No.” Cullen shook his head, leaning back in his chair. He tried to keep the regret from his voice, though he feared he wasn’t succeeding. Since the interruption yesterday night, he’d not had a moment alone with Evelyn; Josephine had dragged her off to meet with a seamstress, and then Leliana had wanted to discuss the latest intelligence on the Empress’ relations with Gaspard. Now she was meeting with Mother Giselle, of all people, though what the revered mother wanted was beyond him.

“And why not?”

“It’s not like I haven’t tried!” Cullen huffed. “We were… interrupted.”

“I do recall hearing something about that,” the mage allowed. He leaned forward, propping his chin up with his arm. “Your passion was woefully interrupted by our dear ambassador, correct?”

Cullen snorted. “Yes.” He still hadn’t quite forgiven Josephine for that.

“It’s too bad,” his friend sighed. “She was so looking forward to it.”

“You sound like I’ll never get another chance.”

“Well, you see, you’re sitting here with me playing chess instead of doing everything you can to get her into your bed. So you’ll forgive me if I have my doubts about your prospects.”

“Worry about your own prospects,” Cullen snapped, irritated at Dorian’s suggestion. To his surprise, Dorian stilled in his chair, his expression fading a bit. Cullen frowned at that – had he said something wrong? “What is it?” he asked then, using a softer tone of voice.

“I do,” Dorian replied. “Worry about my own prospects.” Culled hesitated, sensing that the other would say more if he wasn’t pressed. Sure enough, after a moment’s silence, the mage began to speak again. “I slept with Bull, back on the Storm Coast.”

Well! Cullen supposed this was what Evelyn had been smattering about yesterday night when she’d said that Dorian would need to speak with him soon. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting, but then again, with Dorian, it never was.

“Then… did you work out feelings towards him?”

Dorian snorted. “Oh, not at all,” he replied. He sounded rather glib – odd, considering the magnitude of his admittance. “There weren’t any feelings involved – just sex, you understand.”

“… and you’re happy with that?”

To his surprise, Dorian shook his head. “I’m not!” he said. “Had you asked me that earlier, I’d have wholeheartedly replied with a ‘yes’! But, truth be told… I can no longer do that. Not with Bull.”

“Is this why you asked me when I knew I had feelings for Evelyn?” Cullen guessed.

Dorian hit the tip of his nose before pointing to Cullen, the barest hint of a smirk pulling at his mustache. “You’re not as dumb as you look, Commander!” he said teasingly.

Cullen scowled at him. “You aren’t very kind for someone who wants advice,” he snapped.

“Kind?” Dorian repeated. “Who said anything about being kind?” He shook his head. “Besides, you weren’t very much help.”

“I…” Cullen trailed off, unsure of what to say. He really did want to help Dorian; he did. But he didn’t have an answer for the man. He wasn’t sure that he believed in true love, in those fairytale moments where the lovers looked upon each other and fell in love at first sight. He hadn’t felt that way with Evelyn, and he certainly hadn’t with any of the women that he’d been involved with before her. “I can’t tell you when I knew, Dorian. I didn’t have an… epiphany. If that’s what you want me to say, I’m sorry – but I can’t.”

Dorian nodded. “Can you at least… describe it for me?” he asked.

“Describe what?”

“How it feels. How _you_ feel, that is, about our dear Inquisitor.”

“She didn’t show you my letter?” Cullen smirked. “Or perhaps I should be asking whether or not you stole it?”

“Me?” Dorian sniffed. “I would never do such a naughty thing!”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Can you believe she showed it to Cassandra?” the mage asked. He shook his head sadly. “The Seeker, of all people!”

“Doesn’t she read Varric’s romance serials?” Cullen asked. “I’d think she’d enjoy reading a… well, a romantic letter.”

“Exactly!” Dorian persisted. “She’s been ruined by that tripe!”

“Don’t tell Varric that,” Cullen snorted.

“I love our resident author dearly, but his work panders to an appallingly tasteless demographic,” the mage said. “I like to believe that it’s marketed as such. The alternative is that he possesses no literary talent whatsoever.”

“Again… don’t tell Varric that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dorian agreed. “But back to my original question – how do you feel about Evelyn? What makes her so special to you?”

Cullen thought about for a moment. There were many things that he’d written to Evelyn that he would _not_ be sharing with Dorian. The mage didn’t need to know any more about their relationship than he already did. Between the mage’s proclivity for snooping and Evelyn’s habit of telling him everything, Cullen wasn’t sure how much there was that Dorian didn’t already know. But he was willing to explain his feelings as best as he could. Leaving out the dirty bits, of course.

“It’s a lot of things, I suppose,” he said finally. He picked up a chess piece absently – the queen, of course. He smiled at the irony. “Most of them are small, insignificant details really.”

Dorian leaned forward, smiling. “Tell me.”

“It’s the way that she always fights with her hair, pushing it behind her ears, twirling it up into braids. It’s the way that she bites her lower lip when she’s nervous. Or how she makes witty remarks when she’s cornered.” He shrugged. “I never used to notice those things, but once I did, I could hardly stop thinking about them.”

Dorian sighed; Cullen shot him a questioning look but the mage merely motioned for him to continue.

“I didn’t use to think about her at all, actually,” he admitted. “I thought of her as the Inquisitor – my superior, my leader. We didn’t have a friendship, let alone any sort of… mutual attraction.”

“And then?”

“… and then I did.” It sounded lame to his ears, but he really couldn’t put it any differently. “She began to talk to me more, and we spent time with one another, and I began to appreciate her for who she is. Not just for who she is as the Inquisitor.”

“But you like her for all of the little things.”

“Yes,” Cullen said softly. “For all of the little things.”

“You sound like a man besotted, Commander,” Dorian smirked.

Cullen snorted. “Maybe I am.”

But of course, there was no “maybe” about it. He had never felt this way before, not with any other women. And there had been several other women who’d wanted to marry him. He’d backed out at the last minute of each, unable to commit to a real romantic relationship. Unfortunately for those women, those trysts had been during his period in Kirkwall, and he hadn’t been in any position to give them what they’d wanted.

Now though… he was much more comfortable with admitting his feelings for Evelyn, accepting that he liked this woman more than he’d ever thought possible. It was amazing, really, how he’d gone so long without even giving her a second glance. How had he missed her, back at Haven? How had he not seen her for who she truly was? She must’ve walked past him a hundred times, and he’d never given her more than a passing nod.

To think, he’d almost never gotten to know her…

“I’ve lost you.”

Cullen looked up, surprised to see that Dorian had stood up, staring down at him with a smirk on his face. “What?” he asked.

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts,” the mage continued. He chuckled. “It’s obvious they’re quite pleasant.”

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said. “My mind must have wandered.”

“It’s no matter,” the other said, waving it off with a hand. He sighed. “Oh, to be young and in love!”

“Love?” Cullen repeated blankly.

“Well you aren’t ‘in hate’ with her,” the mage said flatly.

Love. He’d not considered the word before.

Dorian chuckled again and walked past him, clapping him on the back. “Don’t wait too long to tell her,” he murmured.

Love.

 _Maker_.

* * * * *

Evelyn fingered the letter in her hands nervously as she walked up the stairs to the library. She’d managed to pry it away from the Revered Mother after a lengthy conversation about Dorian’s father, of all people. It had been difficult for her to read. Based upon what she knew of Halward Pavus, she was inclined to dislike him. But the letter had seemed… sincere, if misguided.

She was unsure of what to do.

She was _not_ going to trick Dorian into coming to Redcliffe with her, however. She had instantly quashed that ridiculous suggestion. If Dorian had to meet with his ugly past, he was going to do it when he was prepared.

She paused when she reached the landing; her friend was sprawled in his armchair, a book spread across his lap. His brows were furrowed, eyes intent upon the page in front of him, but he looked up as she approached.

“What in Thedas is the matter?” he asked, snapping the book shut. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Not quite,” she replied. “I… have some news.”

“News?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Is it good news?”

“I don’t think you’ll take it that way,” she said quietly. She handed him the letter. He took a look at it, flipping it over in his hands before returning his gaze to her. “It’s from your father.”

“My… my father,” he murmured. He sat down in his chair. “Give me a moment to read this.”

She leaned back against a bookshelf. His face darkened considerably the more he read, and she felt a pang of empathy rush through her. Dorian had been so intent on leaving his past behind, back in Tevinter. But it seemed that his father wasn’t willing to give up on his son just yet. She didn’t know whether to admire the man’s persistence or damn his nosiness.

“Ridiculous,” Dorian finally snapped. He pocketed the letter. “He wants a meeting?” he snorted. “For what? To drag me back to Tevinter, now that I’ve made a ruckus down here in the south?” He shook his head. “This isn’t some coming of age hijink. I’m here to make a difference. But my father can’t see that. Of course he can’t.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked quietly.

“I’m going to go and meet with this messenger he’s sent,” the mage said firmly. “And you’re coming with me!”

“Of course,” she replied immediately.

“It should be a quick trip,” he continued. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“What if it’s a trap?” Evelyn asked, voicing her worst fear about the whole thing. “What if we’re ambushed, and your father tries to… forcibly take you back to Tevinter?”

Dorian sent her a menacing stare that she wouldn’t have thought him capable of. It sent a shiver down her spine.

“I’d like to see the blighted man try.”

* * * * *

Cullen was much more nervous than he should have been.

He stood before the door to the Inquisitor’s inner chamber, hand poised in the air to knock. He’d been standing here for a good five minutes, and yet he’d still given no notice of his presence. It was silly, really. He’d been to the Inquisitor’s room many times – to deliver reports, to answer her summons for a military question, and even once to find a book he’d lent her that she’d neglected to return. It wasn’t unusual for him to be here, and yet…

The situation had changed.

Coming to Evelyn’s room now seemed far more intimate than it had before. It no longer seemed like he was answering a summons for information, but a request for his company. This was no longer solely about business.

With a sigh, he knocked on the door three times. There was no use in fretting about it any longer.

A few moments later, Evelyn opened the door. She smiled hesitantly at him, but he found he couldn’t say anything. He was too busy staring.

She was wearing a thin, lacy nightdress that hugged every inch of her frame. It left very little to his imagination; he had to fight with himself to keep from staring at the curves of her hips, the swell of her breasts. He could see her nipples through the thin fabric, already puckered because of the chill in the air.

_Maker’s breath!_

He cleared his throat to break the silence. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes!” She opened the door wider so that he could come through. “Please, come in!”

He slipped past her and walked up the stairs. The fire was roaring on the hearth to combat the mountain air. There was a bottle of wine on her desk, flanked by stacks of reports and writing utensils. She must have been working when he’d knocked.

Evelyn closed the door and bounded up the steps to meet him. They stared at each other for a moment in silence before she flushed and motioned to the couches. “Please, sit,” she murmured.

He did so, falling into the cushions heavily. He scowled as the multitude of pillows bounced into his lap. He pushed them away irritably as Evelyn sat down beside him.

“Too many pillows?” she guessed.

“What in Thedas are all these pillows for?” he asked.

“I’ve no idea,” she replied. “It’s an awful lot of pillows for one couch, isn’t it?”

“Too many,” he agreed. She smiled at him, and he found his nerves easing a bit. Emboldened, he decided to delve into a deeper conversation. “What did you need of me?”

“Well,” she began, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

He raised an eyebrow, fighting down the instant dismay he’d felt. Why, she’d only just arrived back! But she must have had her reasons. “Where are you going?” he asked, forcing back the more petulant questions that threatened to spill from lips.

“To Redcliffe,” she replied.

“Has the area destabilized?” he asked, thinking immediately of the rebel mages who’d taken control of the keep. But they’d been silent for months now. Had they started up their activities again? He didn’t think that was the case; surely he’d have heard of such.

“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “This is a… more personal matter.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Dorian’s father has sent a messenger,” she explained quietly. “He wants Dorian to meet with the man. To drag him back to Tevinter, I assume.”

“Is Dorian leaving?” Cullen asked sharply.

“No!” Evelyn said quickly. “No! He’s… well, he’s going to see what the man wants. He’s just going to talk. I’m going with him.”

“I see.”

“It should be a short trip this time,” she offered. “We can ride to Redcliffe in as little as a day.”

He smiled at that little attempt to cheer him. “I will eagerly await your return,” he said.

“Actually… I was hoping that you would consider accompanying us,” she said slowly, looking down at her lap. She was clutching her hands tight, and he could see the marks from where her nails had bit the skin.

“Accompany you?” he repeated, surprised by the offer.

“Other than me, you know Dorian the best of anyone in Skyhold,” she explained. She looked up at him, as if to gauge his reaction, and flushed at his scrutiny, quickly looking away again. “I think it would comfort him to know you were there. He and his father have a very… difficult relationship. This will be hard for him, even if he tries to brush it off like it’s nothing.”

He considered it for a moment. There was much work to do around Skyhold; as the Inquisition had grown in size, so had its army swelled. The number of raw recruits they were getting grew by the day. He had to constantly find places to put them and people to train them… in short it was a logistical nightmare. With Rylen in the Approach, it left him to shoulder all the work. And that didn’t even mention the various missions Evelyn needed his trained soldiers to accomplish, missions that he was required to oversee.

But… Dorian was a good friend. If the man needed his support, he wanted to be there. And Redcliffe _was_ only a short distance away from Skyhold, should anything require his urgent attention.

Not to mention, he’d be traveling with Evelyn.

“Of course I’ll go,” he said finally.

Evelyn’s eyes lit up and she clutched as his hand gratefully. “Thank you!” she breathed, beaming at him. “I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to get away, but I know how much this will mean to Dorian!”

“When do you plan on leaving?” he asked.

“Just after first light,” she said quickly. “Josie needs me back in two days for the finishing touches on my gown.” She said the last word with a taste of contempt, and he chuckled. He’d heard of Evelyn’s insistence upon wearing the same uniform as everyone else. Josephine was quite frustrated by her persistence.

“I think you’d look very beautiful in a dress,” he admitted.

She flushed at the compliment, smiling shyly at him. “Would you?”

“You look lovely in your leathers,” he admitted. “And your make your normal Inquisition garb look queenly. But wearing something that befits your beauty?” He shook his head. “It would be difficult for me.”

“Difficult?” she asked, frowning.

He sent her a heated stare. “Difficult to keep my hands off you,” he admitted.

He saw her nostrils flare at her deep inhale. Her skin flushed, hints of red staining her cheeks and the base of her throat. He felt the beginnings of arousal stir to life within him, and he became painfully aware that they were now very alone in a very private suite of rooms.

“I locked the door,” Evelyn offered, guessing at his thoughts.

It was all that he needed to hear. He surged forward to press a hot kiss to her lips. His armor clanked as he moved, and he cursed himself for not thinking to remove it before he’d come to visit her. But Evelyn was a quick thinker, and even as her lips moved insistently against his mouth, she began fumbling with the catches.

He helped as best as he could, stripping off his gloves and bracers. He had to withdraw to remove his breastplate and pauldrons, but no sooner had the metal hit the floor than his mouth was back on hers, searching and warm. Her tongue poked out to lick his lip, and he voiced his approval with a low groan, fisting a hand in her silken hair. She dove into him, tasting him as he had tasted her the other night; the cloying taste of the wine was still on her tongue.

She drew a shaking hand up to pull herself towards him, falling forward into his lap so that her core was seated atop his cock. She ground down into him as she pressed herself close to him, moaning at the sensation. A litany of curses sprang to his mind at how shockingly good the friction felt, but he stayed his tongue, grabbing her hips instead.

He thrust up, not letting her move away from him as his cock hardened. She gripped him tight, relinquishing her hold on his mouth to press her face against his neck. He let go of a hip to push her hair out of the way, and pressed an insistent kiss to the juncture where shoulder and neck met. He bit down, the desire to mark her unblemished skin too strong, and she cried out.

Her fingernails raked a burning trail down his side as she widened her legs, and she dipped her hand beneath his trousers to reach for the hem of his shirt. In one swift movement, she leaned back and pulled, taking the shirt with her. Her nightdress was falling off a shoulder, and Cullen took the opportunity to push it off the other, baring her to the waist.

She pulled him forward to her breasts, cradling his head with her hands. Obediently, he took a rosy nipple into his mouth, suckling it until she shuddered against him. Then he moved to the other, lavishing it with attention while his hand came up to knead at the sensitive flesh. Breathy moans fell from her lips, growing loud when he sucked particularly hard and quieting when he withdrew to lick at her soft skin. It was like music to his ears.

But it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed to hear her crying out, not merely groaning her pleasure.

Gripping her tight, he flipped them over so that she was seated on the couch. He fell to the floor then, pushing her knees apart. She lifted her hips just enough that he could pull the rest of the fabric off her body. He complied readily before sitting back, drinking in the sight of her naked body for the first time. She flushed at the inspection, though he couldn’t help but notice how her eyes smoldered at him as well.

“See something you like?” she asked.

He snorted, leaning back in. “Only everything,” he murmured. Maker, but he could _smell_ her, the scent of her arousal flooding his senses. She was sopping, the fabric beneath her soaked with her desire. It drove him mad to think that _he_ had done this to her. He was the reason for her desire.

He darted in, licking her core deliberately slowly, and she squealed. He repeated the motion and she instinctively bucked into his face, intent on her pleasure. He chuckled, reaching up to hold her hips down with his hands as he continued to lap at her, delving into her core with abandon.

When his tongue retreated to find her clitoris, she let out a deep, guttural moan, gripping his head tight with a hand. “That’s-” She broke off with another moan as he flicked his tongue against it, fingers tightening in his hair. He never let her finish the sentence, continuing to pleasure her as the noises he drew from her rose in pitch. She was bucking wildly into his face now, so close to her peak, and he intensified his efforts to bring her to release, ignoring the aching in his cock.

He looked up as she finally came against his lips, watching as her face contorted in ecstasy. She’d thrown her head back to rest against the couch, mouth wide and lidded eyes delirious. He’d never seen her look more beautiful.

Cullen withdrew then, moving to press scorching kisses against her the toned lines of her stomach as she came down from the high. Her heard her lungs heave with the exertion, her heartbeat slow from its galloping pace.

After a few moments, she grabbed his face with her hands and brought it up to her mouth, kissing him languidly. “Maker, you’re a wonderful man,” she breathed against him.

He chuckled. “I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured.

“Good,” she whispered. She pushed herself to her feet and took his hand, moving closer to the bed. His cock twitched in anticipation of what was coming next, and again when her hand moved to his belt. “Though you’ll need to remove these.”

Cullen had never taken his pants off so quickly in life.

Evelyn watched as he undressed, her eyes fixing on his cock as he released it from its confines. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and he groaned, pushing her back into the bed. She positioned him so that he was aligned with her entrance, and _damn_ , but she was still so wet.

He rubbed his cock against her, relishing the velvety sensation. Evelyn moaned beneath him, snaking a leg behind his back in an attempt to push him forward. He chuckled. “So eager?” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her deeply. “Already?”

“Yes,” she panted, pushing harder with her foot.

He moved her hair out of the way to suck on an earlobe, remembering the sensitive spot from last night. She moaned loudly, hands clasping his arms tight as she shuddered against him. He bit down softly, eliciting a soft gasp from the woman beneath him, and then pushed into her slowly until he was fully seated within her.

It was wonderful. She was so warm, and soft, and tight, and it took all of his control to not ram her into the bedframe then. But he waited as she adjusted to the pressure, pressing insistent kisses to her neck until he felt her hips squirm beneath him in a consent for movement.

He pulled out slowly before thrusting back in, deep, again and again. What started off as a slow, steady pace quickly grew more frantic as his need overtook him. Her cries escalated like the climax of an operatic melody as her hips rose to meet him in sync with his thrusts.

He changed his angle a bit then and hit her deeper then before and she keened like an animal. The sound went straight to his cock, and he growled, gripping her tight with one hand even as he delved in again. Maker, but it was almost too much for him to take – she was just so _tight_ and _hot_ and –

An insistent banging on the door startled him mid-thrust.

“Inquisitor! Are you alright in there?”

Evelyn’s eyes snapped open, glaring at the door with an intensity he’d not seen before. “GO THE FUCK AWAY!” she bellowed, bucking her hips up into Cullen again. He groaned and thrust into her again, deep. He wasn’t going to stop this time. Not this time. Not for anyone, anything.

She reached a hand down between them to rub her clitoris as she sensed his climax approaching. She let out a breathy gasp at the sensation, rubbing herself all the harder while her other hand rose up to palm his sweaty cheek.

“Come for me,” she whispered.

Her words combined with the image of her touching herself did him in. With a final groan, he spilled himself inside her, snapping his hips forward a few more times before he collapsed atop her. He moved a hand to help her find her second release, but she was ahead of him, bucking into her hand one final time before her body relaxed.

Neither of them spoke as he curled instinctively around her body, dragging her closer to him. She seemed to contract inward, ducking into him and resting her head against his chest. They fit together perfectly, the heat of their bodies cocooning them better than any blanket could.

They stayed like that for several long moments. Cullen was content to lie there, stroking her back and listening to her breaths as they slowed. It was the definition of a perfect moment, and he never wanted it to end.

But he knew that he needed to get back to his office, especially if they were to leave in the morning. He would have to take some reports with him to read on the road; there was no other way to justify taking a break. And he would need to pack a small bag to take with him.

He carefully extricated himself from Evelyn’s limbs, moving to where his clothing lay on the floor. He thought she was asleep.

But a small hand darted out to grab his wrist, and he paused. Her jade eyes peered up at him sleepily. “Don’t go,” she murmured. He bent down to press a kiss against her forehead.

“I must prepare for the morning,” he replied. “I haven’t had any time to pack.”

She looked up at him sheepishly. “That’s my fault,” she admitted.

“I’m not complaining,” he chuckled. He rose once more.

“Please… stay,” she said. Her eyes were pleading. “We can leave at a later hour.” She turned onto her back then, dragging his wrist over so that she could place a delicate kiss against the veins that ran to his hand. “Please?” she murmured.

He sighed, and made to crawl into the bed with her. She made a happy noise and clambered beneath the blankets, cuddling into his side as he joined her. She was asleep within moments, her small hand resting easily on her stomach.

He shook his head as he began to stroke her hair. It was starting small, with simple requests to stay the night. But soon, he had a feeling the list of things he would do to please this woman would grow. He simply couldn’t resist.

 _Dammit man, you’ve got it bad_ , he thought, closing his eyes.

But that was alright.

For perhaps the first time in his life, falling in love was perfectly alright.

And that was a wonderful thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) I didn't have much time for editing (got real life stuff to do unfortunately) but I wanted to go ahead and post while I could. I'll come back and edit later!
> 
> Let me know what you think if you're so inclined! :D


	16. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of this dialogue is taken straight from game. Some parts are SLIGHTLY modified. I thought about tweaking it, but I really like this scene and think it was rather well done, so I saw no need to change it. I mainly just added the action for the main scene :)

As it turned out, Cullen was right all along – soldiers really were incorrigible gossips.

Evelyn flushed as yet another set of guards leered at her as she walked past. Their stares were knowing, the smirks on their faces turning into hushed laughs as soon as they thought she was out of earshot.

Had she been _that_ loud? She hadn’t thought so, but then again, in the heat of the moment the last thing she had been worried about was how loud she was. She’d been more focused on the man sharing her bed.

She hugged her saddlebags a little closer to her body as she smiled, remembering the last night. It was been perfect from start to finish. But it wasn’t just about the sex; it was waking up next to Cullen, curled around his body to absorb the warmth radiating from his skin. It was seeing how relaxed his face was while he slept, and knowing that she was the first thing he’d see when he awoke. She would take all the ogling in the world if it meant she could wake up to that every day.

But she was getting ahead of herself, perhaps. They'd not even discussed their relationship.

It was still early in the morning, a slight mist distorting the rays of the sun in the courtyard. There weren’t very many people awake now, save the soldiers practicing their morning drills and the guards standing atop the ramparts.

She made her way to the stables, where Master Dennett had already readied her horse. She greeted the animal warmly, giving it an apple she’d nicked from the kitchens earlier. It gave a soft whinny of approval, and she patted the beast’s neck fondly.

“Hey, Boss.”

Evelyn turned as the Iron Bull walked over to her, the reins to a magnificent stallion in his hands. They’d really been quite lucky to find a horse big enough to comfortably seat the Qunari. The stallion had been a gift from King Alistair and Queen Anora for her naming day a few months past – to improve their Fereldan stock, of course. Their horse master had snorted at the idea that his stock needed any sort of improvement and promptly refused to let the horse anywhere near his mares.

“Morning, Bull,” she replied, finishing up the ties on her saddlebags. “Are the Chargers on patrol duty today?”

“No,” he said.

She frowned over at him. “Going for an early morning ride, then?” she asked.

“I’m coming with you.”

She blinked at him, confused.

“Dorian asked me to come along,” he explained.

She raised an eyebrow at that, wondering what her other friend was up to. “Did he now?”

The Qunari shrugged. “Didn’t say much about what we’re doing,” he admitted. “Mentioned it was a short trip to Redcliffe.”

“Yes,” she said noncommittally. She wasn’t sure if she should give Bull more details; if Dorian hadn’t mentioned his father then it was likely for a reason. She eyed him sideways. He certainly didn’t seem to be pressing for her details. She sighed then; well, he’d find out soon enough, she supposed.

She yawned, trying to cover it with a hand.

“Late night?”

Evelyn flushed at the comment, looking over to Bull. The mercenary was grinning at her in a way that suggested the question wasn’t as innocent as it sounded. She groaned, and he chuckled. “Not you too!” she cried. “How do you even know?”

Bull shrugged. “Couple of the guards came into the tavern late last night,” he replied. “Said something about screaming coming from your quarters.” He winked at her. “Figured out the rest on my own.”

Great. So now all of Skyhold likely knew she’d been fucked into the headboard last night.

“Ah, don’t worry, Boss,” Bull said then, correctly interpreting the dark look on her face. He clapped her on the shoulder, and she almost fell into the dirt at the force behind it. “I’ll keep your secret.”

She snorted. “I’m not sure there’s much of a secret left to keep,” she muttered.

They made small talk until Dorian and Cullen arrived a few minutes later. The latter looked mighty uncomfortable, walking stiffly down to the horses with a dark expression on his face. Evelyn bit her lip to hide the smile that threatened to break free. Judging from the smirk on the mage’s face, he was teasing Cullen relentlessly about something. She had a pretty good guess as to what it was.

“Really, Commander, it’s nothing to be ashamed about!” Dorian said easily, grasping the reins of his gelding and swinging himself up into the saddle.

“I’m not ashamed!” Cullen snapped. “It’s none of your business! There’s a difference!”

“The Inquisitor is a most beloved friend of mine!” the mage protested. “Why, she’s like a little sister to me! Which means that when you _fuck_ her, it very much _is_ my business!” He shot the other a reproving glance.

“Stop acting concerned,” Cullen retorted hotly, slinging his packs onto his horse’s back a little harder than was necessary. The stallion stamped the ground nervously. “You’re just being nosy!”

“But if I wasn’t nosy, how would I discover anything?” Dorian demanded. He sighed dramatically and turned his attention to Evelyn. His expression softened then, and he smiled warmly at her. “I hear congratulations are in order, my dear.”

“Congratulations?” Cullen muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not a prize to be won!”

“Need I remind you that you have the best ass in the entire-”

“NO!”

“Well, it really is a prize, Commander.”

“Stop looking at my ass!”

“I’m doing no such thing!” Dorian protested. He moved around a little in the saddle, squirming to get a better view. “Though it certainly isn’t from lack of trying.”

Bull chuckled softly, and Evelyn looked over to the Qunari. He had his arms crossed, staring at the other two men amusedly. “They fight like an old married couple, eh, Boss?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow at the metaphor, though she was inclined to agree. “And what do you know of old married couples?” she asked teasingly.

Bull shrugged. “Not much,” he admitted. “But all the ones I did know fought like that.” He paused, considering something. “Afterwards, they always fucked and made up.” He turned to Evelyn. “Think they’ll do the same?” he asked, jerking his head to the others.

Evelyn snorted. “I hope not,” she replied. “Otherwise, I think I’ll need to invest in a new relationship.”

Once Cullen and Dorian had finally settled down, they set off for Redcliffe, keeping their horses to a brisk pace. Evelyn kept to the back with Bull; they discussed the goings on in the tavern, the Chargers, and various other things, keeping the conversation light. It wasn’t often that she got to talk to Bull for so long without an interruption. The change of pace was nice.

Soon, the landscape shifted from mountains to wooded grassland. There was more livestock here, dotting fields fenced in with rough hewn stone. The temperature climbed considerably, and Evelyn was rolling up her shirtsleeves by midday when they briefly stopped for a meal. Cullen had removed his cloak as well; Evelyn was glad to see him be rid of the damn thing. It made his head look smaller than it actually was. She’d never mentioned this to him, of course. He seemed quite fond of the thing, despite the layer of dirt and grime that seemed permanently attached to it. Perhaps she could convince him to burn it?

She snorted. No. Corypheus was more likely to call off his attacks on the Inquisition and declare a truce than Cullen was to get rid of that mangy cloak.

They didn’t stop for long, and soon they were on the road again. It was but a few more hours until they reached Redcliffe, and they were eager to be on their way. The closer they got to the city, the more somber Dorian became. He was riding just in front of Evelyn, and she could tell by the harsh setting of his shoulders that he was anxious about what to expect.

Truth be told, she was too.

Dorian pulled up short as they arrived at the Gull and Lantern. Its sign was swinging softly in the breeze, worn screws creaking. He dismounted heavily, tying his horse to the hitching post outside. Cullen made to follow as he stepped towards the tavern, but the mage shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “I’ll go in alone. With Evelyn, of course.”

Cullen turned, shooting Evelyn an annoyed glance, but he took the reins of her horse easily and stayed back with Bull.

Evelyn stepped forward to join her friend, wiping her palms nervously on her pants. She tried to shoot him an encouraging smile, but she was rewarded with merely a grimace as Dorian moved to open the door.

To her surprise, the tavern was completely empty. The tables were bare, all of the patrons missing; there was not even a man behind the bar to serve any visitors who might’ve appeared.

“Uh-oh,” Dorian murmured. “Nobody’s here. That doesn’t bode well.”

Evelyn tightened her grip on her bow, mindlessly rooting around in her quiver for an arrow. Dorian did the same with his staff, moving it into an offensive position. She paused when she heard soft footsteps on the stairs. The both of them turned in that direction, tense.

A man she didn’t recognize appeared, and Dorian relaxed his grip on his staff, standing up a little straighter. “Father,” he scowled.

Evelyn studied the man more intently now – yes, she could see the resemblance. They had the same olive complexion and dark hair, though the eyes were different. Halward Pavus was only of middling height, and his best years were past him. But he still had the sort of commanding presence that came so naturally to the best politicians. His eyes shifted to her then, and she saw his lips purse in disapproval.

“Dorian.” He sounded wary, aloof.

“So the whole story about the family retainer was, what, a smokescreen?” her friend demanded, taking a step forward in his aggravation.

“Then you were told,” Halward said quietly, moving over to stand with them. His eyes flicked over to where Evelyn stood. “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for _you_ to be involved.”

“Of course not!” Dorian snorted. “Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor!” He openly sneered at the man now, challenging him to deny the accusation. “What would people think?” He shook his head in anger. “What is this exactly, Father? An ambush? Kidnapping? A _warm_ , family _reunion?”_

Halward sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before looking to Evelyn, exasperated. “This is how it has always been,” he said.

Evelyn crossed her arms over her chest, not inclined to feel sympathy for the man who’d made his son’s life miserable. “You went to all this trouble to get Dorian here,” she snapped. “Talk to _him_ , not to me.”

“Yes, Father!” Dorian agreed. “Talk to me! Let me hear how mystified you are by my anger!”

“Dorian, there’s no need to-”

“I prefer the company of men.” Dorian looked over at Evelyn. “And my father disapproves. As I’ve told you before.”

“Is there more to it than that?” she asked quietly.

Dorian was a very secretive person, and it warmed her to know that he was willing to share the secrets of his past with her. But when they’d discussed his father, she’d guessed that there had been something else, something he still wasn’t quite ready to tell her. She could feel it now, bubbling to the surface because of his father’s closeness.

He gave her a tight-lipped nod now. It saddened her greatly, to think he'd suffered more than he'd already let on. What else had happened? She scowled at Dorian's father as he stepped forward again.

“Dorian, please, if you’ll only listen to me!” Halward said quickly; his polished façade was breaking down in the face of his son’s anger, his hands wringing together nervously in front of him.

“Why?” Dorian whirled on the man, moving towards him. “So you can spout more convenient lies? He taught me to hate blood magic! ‘A result of a weak mind.’ Those are _his_ words. But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to – _change_ me!”

Her friend’s face was anguished, and Evelyn yearned to reach out and comfort him. She could connect the pieces now – a father, determined to have his son follow in his footsteps to greatness. A son, who could never live up to those impossible standards simply because of who he was. And blood magic, a taboo practice in the south, but a branch of magic merely swept under the rug in Tevinter.

_Oh, Dorian._

“I only wanted what was best for you,” Halward insisted.

“You wanted the best for _you!”_ Dorian snapped, shaking his head. “Your fucking legacy! Anything for that!” He stormed away, leaning against the bar heavily.

Halward sent Evelyn a helpless look, to which she responded with a glare before going over to her friend. She settled a hand on his arm, meaning to be comforting, but he shrugged out of her grasp. She grimaced. “Don’t leave things like this, Dorian,” she murmured. He looked up at her, torn. “You’ll never forgive yourself.”

He stared at her for a moment. She gave him her best smile, attempting to be reassuring. He seemed to draw strength from her words, for he whirled around then to confront his father. “Tell me why you came,” he demanded.

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition-”

“ _You_ didn’t,” Dorian interrupted him. “I joined the Inquisition because it’s the right thing to do. Once… I had a father who would have known that.” He turned and made to leave the tavern, disappointed that there was nothing more he could wring from his father, no admittance of guilt or wrongdoing.

“Once I had a son who trusted me.” Dorian paused. “A trust I betrayed.” He turned then, staring at his father. “I only wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice again.” Halward gave a sad sort of smile. “Ask him to forgive me.”

Dorian hesitated, and Evelyn tensed. What was he going to do? Would he bolt from the room, never to talk to his father again? Would he step forward and embrace the man? No, that last seemed too unlikely, even for a best-case scenario. But how would Dorian react? He was still frozen to the floor.  
Suddenly, he sent her a pleading look, an unspoken request for advice. She jerked her head towards Halward emphatically, and he gave her the tiniest of nods before walking rather cautiously over to his father.

She had to suppress her sigh of relief as she made to exit the tavern, intent on giving them some privacy.

Her intuition had been right – she disliked Halward Pavus even more than she had before. Meeting him had done nothing to assuage his guilt, in her eyes. But she was glad that Dorian was talking to him. Based upon what he had told her, it was unlikely that the two would ever understand each other. They were two entirely different individuals. Yet they were family. Families stuck together, even unto the Void.

Cullen and Bull looked up as she slipped the tavern door shut, their quiet conversation lapsing. The former stood, taking a few hesitant steps towards her. “How did it go?” he asked. His eyes flicked behind her, noticing Dorian’s absence. “Where’s Dorian?”

“Still inside,” she replied quietly. She hesitated, and then added, “With his father.”

“What?” Bull asked sharply, leaning forward.

“He was supposed to meet with a family retainer,” Evelyn explained. “Instead… well it appears it was a ruse. His father came to speak with him. They’re talking.”

Bull muttered something under his breath, his face dark. He stared hard at the tavern for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not he should burst in there. But eventually he snorted and looked away.

“Is everything alright?” Cullen asked. He sounded worried.

Evelyn looked up at him, a small smile gracing her lips. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But it’s good that they’re talking. Dorian was… very angry.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “That’s his story to tell,” she said. “Not mine.” He looked like he wanted to press the issue, so she took his hand then and started to drag him in the direction of the docks. “Come,” she said. “Let’s see what kind of fish they’re frying. I’m starving.”

He sighed, but let himself be pulled away. “Always hungry,” he said teasingly.

“Dealing with demons, literally or figuratively, is quite exhausting work,” she agreed.

“What if I don’t like fish?”

She paused; she hadn’t considered that. What if he didn’t like fish? It was possible; maybe after spending so much time in cities situated by lakes and the sea, he’d grown tired of fish. “There’s not much else to eat here,” she said slowly. Perhaps they could find some mutton?

He pulled her back towards him, sending her a heated look. “I can think of something I’d like to eat,” he murmured, brushing a hand against her cheek.

She shivered at the insinuation. “Can you now?” she asked, looking up at him through her lashes.

He exhaled hard, hands moving to grip her hips. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “It gives me dangerous thoughts.”

“I like your dangerous thoughts.”

“Then come,” he said, grabbing her hand. Now it was his turn to lead as he moved in a different direction, towards a more derelict side of town where fewer people lived.

“Where are we going?” she asked, the thrill of anticipation rushing through her.

He looked over his shoulder at her, smirking. “To find someplace to eat.”

* * * * *

“You doing alright, Dorian?”

Dorian looked over at Bull. The Qunari was sitting on his bedroll, polishing his greatsword. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, not sure he’d heard the other right.

Bull shrugged. “I know family stuff can be rough.”

Dorian snorted. “What would _you_ know about families?” he demanded. His voice was a bit harsher than he’d intended, but he felt his acerbity was deserved. How could someone without a true father even think to understand what he’d gone through his entire life? It was almost insulting to even insinuate such! “True Qunari don’t have families.”

Bull finally looked up at him. “Finding out you don’t fit in with the people who raised you?” he asked. “Having to walk away from everything you grew up with, knowing you’ve disappointed the ones who loved you?” He snorted. “Yeah, I might know a bit. Takes a tough man to do it, too.” He smirked at Dorian then. “So good on you, you big old fop!”

Dorian cringed. “Yay!” he muttered sarcastically. “Good on me.”

Something about Bull’s words bothered him – and it wasn’t merely the suggestion that Bull knew what he was going through. Now that he’d thought about it, he regretted his harsh words. Bull might not have had blood relatives, but he’d clearly had people who’d cared about him. And he’d rejected them all to save the Chargers. It had been the right decision, to be sure, but still a difficult one.

Was it really any different than what he’d done? His mother, his extended family, his friends… even his father had loved him, in his own way. Hadn’t he disappointed them by running away to the south? Even though it was obviously the right thing to do?

Bull was right – he hadn’t fit in with the people who had raised him. He’d received the same lessons that any wealthy nobleman’s son would; most of his friends hadn’t questioned what they were taught, and if they did, they’d only done so for the sake of philosophical argument. They’d laughed at Dorian for actually wanting to do something other than debate the issues, called him an idealist. No, he’d never been satisfied with what Tevinter had to offer. It had all seemed hollow to him.

But Bull…

“You don’t think you belong with the Qunari anymore?” he asked suddenly, recalling the other’s words.

“No,” Bull said heavily. He put his sword aside then, laying his whetstone beside it.

“Why not?” He needed to know. He needed to know why someone else thought they didn’t belong in their own society. He needed to know if it was just him. “You used to seem so sure.”

The Qunari shrugged. “Likely the same reason you don’t think you belong in Tevinter,” he replied. “We like to tell ourselves we have all the answers. The Qun claims to have all the answer. But it doesn’t. We don’t. No one does. And when we find out we don’t have the answers, it scares the shit out of us. So it’s easier to pretend we have them, to go on living as if nothing was wrong. But not all people can live like that.”

“Answers? What answers are those?”

“The ones to all the tough questions. Slavery. Magic. Gods.”

“Then what are supposed to do in our ignorance?” Dorian demanded. He shook his head. “That’s the problem. There are clear problems in Tevinter that require fixing; everyone acknowledges it. But no one wants to _do_ anything about it! It’s maddening!” He shook his head. “It’s why I left. I could not sit around and twiddle my thumbs as the world crumbled around me.”

Their conversation lagged for a moment. Dorian continued to stare up at the tent, brooding. He heard Bull shifting around beside, removing his boots and armor before settling into his bedroll, arms behind his head.

“The Qun has problems too,” Bull offered suddenly. Dorian turned to look at him. Now it was Bull’s turn to stare darkly into the distance. “It doesn’t work for everyone. It doesn’t work if anyone doubts.”

“Did you have doubts?” Dorian asked softly.

Bull snorted and looked over at him. “Doesn’t everyone?” he shot back.

Dorian studied him for a moment before he decided to finally give voice to his thoughts. “You’re not like any Qunari I’ve ever met,” he said.

Bull snorted. “You’ve mentioned that a few times,” he said.

“But I mean it!” Dorian said, rolling onto his side. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“Ever think that maybe that’s the reason I’m Tal-Vashoth?”

That shut Dorian up.

Because Bull was exactly right. He wasn’t like the other Qunari – and for that, he’d been exiled.

“But it’s not a bad thing,” he said quickly. “I… I like you a good deal more than most Qunari.”

Bull paused a moment, and then smirked at him. “Yeah?” he asked.

“I… yes.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Dorian gesticulated wildly with his hands, trying to convey his meaning. It was woefully inadequate, and Bull just continued to stare at him. He sighed then. “You’re different.”

Bull chuckled at him. “You know, Dorian, you have this picture of the Qunari in your mind. You see us as this forbidden, terrible thing.”

Dorian eyed him curiously. “And?”

“I think you’re _drawn_ to the forbidden.” The Qunari laid back on his bedroll, moving his arms to rest at his side.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dorian said quickly.

“You ever want to explore it, my door’s always open.”

“Yes, you’ve made that quite clear,” the mage sighed, flopping onto his back.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“Everything,” Dorian snorted. He turned to look at Bull and found the other staring back at him. “And… nothing, I suppose.”

Bull didn’t reply. He continued to stare at Dorian appraisingly, his eye calculating. Finally, he gave a curt nod and laid his head down.

“What, no answer?” Dorian snorted. “I bare my soul, and that’s what I get? A grunt?”

“You call that baring your soul?” Bull raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well, metaphorically, of course.”

“You figure out what you need. When you do, let me know.” The Qunari rolled over onto his side then, effectively ending all further conversation.

Dorian sighed lightly, settling into the bedroll. That was all well and good for Bull. But how did he figure out what he wanted? He’d come to terms with his feelings, yes. He’d accepted them. Wonderful. But deciding to act on those feelings?

That was something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Have I mentioned how hard it is to write Bull and Dorian? They just won't cooperate sometimes, dammit.
> 
> \- BV: I PUT THAT PART IN JUST FOR YOU. YOU KNOW WHICH ONE :D


	17. The Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW chapter! :)

Evelyn was flying.

Or at least, she felt like she was.

It was only the third time that Cullen had managed to bring her to release using only his mouth, and she was already convinced that she was addicted to the sensations the action solicited in her body. Her every nerve was buzzing pleasantly, the slightest touch of his rough hands like fire on her skin. His lips were teasing against her stomach as he made his way back up to her mouth to kiss her.

She tasted herself as he deepened the kiss; the thought might have disgusted her, but instead she found that it merely stoked the heat rebuilding in her core. Cullen divested himself of his pants then and repositioned himself between her slick thighs, his cock aligned with her core. He rubbed himself against her teasingly, pulling a moan from her throat.

She opened her eyes and pulled back from the kiss, grinning as she flipped over. He sat back, watching her motions as she got on her hands and knees and shoved her ass towards his hips. They’d not tried this position before, but it had always had good results in the past. And with a lover like Cullen… She groaned as she felt his hands on her hips, guiding her to his cock.

He slammed into her hard, and she cried out, breasts bouncing forward against her arms. He withdrew tortuously slowly before slamming back in again, pressing her down into the blankets with a hand. Her nipples brushed against the fabric with every thrust, and she moaned at the delicious friction. “Harder,” she breathed, crying out when he obeyed her command.

Cullen was panting atop her with his exertions, his muscles taut. She could feel the sweat dripping off his face, mingling with her own as his pace quickened.

He reached a hand down between them then, and she jerked as his fingers brushed against her core. He chuckled at that, slowing down enough that he could tease her with his fingers. She whimpered as he stroked her, clutching at the blankets beneath her. It was just so good, so heavenly – the friction, the speed, the pressure, _everything_.

She cried out as she came, clenching tight around his cock. “Maker’s breath!” he hissed, snapping his hips forward into her tight heat. She rode out the waves of pleasure as he found his own, finally coming to relax against her back perhaps a minute later.

He pressed a gentle kiss between her shoulder blades before withdrawing, laying back on the blankets. Evelyn collapsed against him softly, rolling into his warmth and pressing a damp head into his neck. She inhaled deeply, loving the rich, musky scent coming off his skin. He wrapped an arm around her protectively, drawing her closer.

“Must we return in the morning?” he murmured. “I quite like it here in the Hinterlands.”

“Away from your reports?” Evelyn asked, smirking.

“Away from _prying eyes_ ,” he clarified. He motioned vaguely to a stack of papers. “I brought my reports with me, because _some_ of us like to work on the road.”

She pulled back, giving him an offended look. “Are you suggesting I’m not working?” she demanded.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“… alright, this was more of a personal favor,” she admitted. “But I don’t regret it! Dorian needed me here.”

Cullen sobered up at her words, face clouding with worry. “Have you spoken to him since?”

Evelyn shook her head mutely. Dorian had avoided company all afternoon. After he’d finished speaking with his father, he’d retreated to his tent and not come out since. She couldn’t blame him though; she imagined that she would have done the same, were she in his position.

“He’ll talk eventually,” Cullen said, giving voice to her unspoken thoughts.

She quirked her lip up in a wry smile. “He always does, doesn’t he?”

“He can’t resist.” He opened his arms wide then, beckoning her closer. “Come here.”

She willingly moved into his arms, snuggling up beside him once more.

“I need to speak with you about something,” he continued, wrapping his arms firmly around her back and clutching his hands on her hip.

“Oh?”

“Yes.” He paused and she looked up.

He chuckled, catching the slight apprehension in her voice. “It’s nothing serious,” he said. She relaxed a little at that, ducking her head under his chin. “But we haven’t put a name on this… this thing we’re involved in.” She could feel the vibrations of his vocal cords as he spoke, and she loved the way that his words thrummed through her.

“This?” she repeated. “You mean our relationship?”

“Yes.”

“…well, isn’t it a relationship?” she asked, frowning.

“Of course it is,” he said quickly.

“I feel like you’re asking me something else then,” she admitted.

Cullen was silent for a moment, and she feared that she’d said something wrong. But just as she was about to pull away and look him in the eye, he moved first. He propped himself up on an elbow, moving his hands to grab her own. “I suppose I am,” he said quietly. He looked down at their fingers and smiled softly. “I am… very serious about you, Evelyn. Our involvement is not mere amusement for me.”

He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind one of her ears. “I would know if you feel the same,” he continued.

She kept waiting for the question, and it took her a moment to realize that he’d already asked. She almost laughed then – did he really need to ask? Could he not see it written upon her face every time they were together?

“Cullen,” she said gently, palming his cheek with her hand, “do you need to ask?”

“I suppose not,” he snorted, leaning into her fingers. He looked up at her, and his eyes were like liquid gold, framed by delicate, dark lashes. “I… have never felt anything like this before.”

She brought their foreheads together, moving her hand to the back of his neck. “I know,” she said softly.

“I-“ He broke off, unable to find words, and her heart swelled, for she could guess what he was thinking, what he wanted to say. She shushed him with her mouth, easing her lips over his. She felt his hands tighten on her, and before she knew it, they were lying down again, bodies pressed tightly together and heat growing between them.

Maker.

Would she ever get enough of this man?

He pressed his hips against her then, and she felt his awakening arousal press against her thigh. She inhaled sharply as he bucked in her, the noise turning into a moan as he grazed her sex. He chuckled at her reaction, a rumbling against her swollen lips.

She sighed as he repeated the motion, digging her fingers into his skin as she pulled him tight.

No. She would definitely never get enough of this.

* * * * *

“An interesting question!” Dorian sat back a little, smirking as he pretended to weigh Cullen’s words. He held out his empty wine glass then. “You’ll have to buy me another round if you want to hear the answer.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, but motioned for the bartender to refill Dorian’s glass. Cabot grumbled as he pulled a second bottle down from the shelf, but he fulfilled the unspoken request just the same. He topped off Cullen’s glass as well, even though he didn’t really need any more.

The mage took a sip of wine and hummed in delight. He took one more before answering Cullen. “To tell you the truth, I do love my father. I don’t particularly care for him, but he is my father.”

“Even after all he did to you?”

Dorian had spoken with Cullen extensively on the ride back to Skyhold. The depth of Halward Pavus’ disdain for his son’s nature was appalling. It more than disgusted him – it had made him very angry. He’d mentioned as much to his friend, but Dorian had merely smiled sadly at him. _I felt the same once_ , he’d said. _It used to make me so angry, so very, very angry. I wanted to hit him. Me!_   _And now when I think about it... I just feel sad. Empty, even._

It was hard for Cullen to swallow, though he knew there was nothing that he could do about the situation. Dorian didn’t deserve such treatment; no one deserved such treatment. He knew that the mage’s romantic attractions were taboo in Tevinter, but to think that his father had thought of changing him with blood magic? The side of him that would always be a Templar had balked at the thought; for an instant, he’d felt physically sick just thinking of it.

“I hate what he did,” Dorian agreed. “I hate what he attempted to do. I hate his stuffy opinions, his insufferable pride, and how little he cares for me compared to that. But I don’t hate _him_. Not yet.” He took a sip of wine. "Not if there's any chance for him to redeem himself." 

Cullen shook his head. “Then you are a stronger man than I,” he replied.

“Nonsense!” Dorian said. “You could use me for your weight training!” He raised an eyebrow suggestively. “I daresay I might enjoy you handling me.”

Cullen sighed, and the mage chuckled.

“It’s much the same way I feel about Tevinter, really. There is so much that I hate about the Imperium, and with good cause. You southerners aren’t afraid of us for nothing!” Dorian paused for another sip. “But there is much to like about the Imperium as well – our history, for example. Our centuries of expertise, of civilization! Your library here? Embarrassing, frankly. And don’t even get me started on your wine.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Cullen snorted.

“My father has redeeming qualities. They are, unfortunately, overshadowed by the fact that he is an enormous prick.”

“What did you talk about, after Evelyn left you two alone?” Cullen asked. He’d been intrigued ever since she’d stepped out of the Gull and Lantern alone, but he hadn’t asked. Dorian had finally opened up to him on their return trip, and Cullen hadn’t been about to throw that opportunity away with prying questions. He took it as a sign that their friendship was deepening.

But now that Dorian had had a few days to process, his humor was returning to him. With wine in his belly, he seemed downright jovial. It seemed a much more prudent time to ask.

“Many things,” the mage replied. He was silent for a moment, his eyes calculating as he stared at Cullen. Finally, he shrugged and continued. “He did apologize to me.” He affected a deeper voice then, contorting his face into what Cullen assumed to be a caricature of Halward. “‘ _I’m sorry I made your life miserable for so many years, my boy! I only wanted what was best for you! I’m sorry I’m too blighted stubborn to see what an astronomically stupid idea that was!’”_

He shook his head, taking another drink. “Do you know that he thinks I came to the Inquisition to get away from him?” He swirled the liquid in his glass around absently, watching the tiny eddy that formed.

“What about Alexius? Does your father think him here for no reason?”

Dorian shrugged. “A coincidence?” he guessed. “No, he’s not willing to believe I came here because I happen to have a conscience. He can't see that I came to attempt to stop Alexius from ripping time apart. He simply cannot fathom doing such a thing.”

“He truly thinks so little of you?”

“… he believes I am throwing my life away.”

Cullen snorted at that. It was a ridiculous notion. Dorian was one of the bravest people that he knew. The man had come to help the Inquisition, knowing full well that most people would ridicule or despise him simply due to where he came from. He deflected the insults with humor and charm, but he was also subtly working to change the perception of what it meant to be from Tevinter. It was admirable, and Cullen was quite proud of his friend.

“You?” he scoffed. “I wasted countless minutes of my life hating mages because of the actions of a few. I turned my head aside from the injustices going on right underneath me. I’ve signed away portions of my future to lyrium that I won’t ever get back. But you?” He shook his head. “You’re making a difference. One that won’t result in nothing but pain.”

“Why, Commander, you’re making me blush!”

“It’s the truth,” Cullen insisted. “I am proud to call you my friend, even if your father is not proud to call you his son.”

Dorian smiled at him then, a true smile that he reserved for those few occasions when he was completely serious. “I could say the same of you, Commander,” he admitted. “I did not think to find such a friend here.” He raised his glass then. “To friends!” he cried. “And the dreadful circumstances that brought us together!”

“To friends,” Cullen murmured, taking a drink of wine.

“… no need to be so gloomy, Commander,” Dorian admonished him.

“I’m not gloomy!”

“Have you told your face that?”

“… that’s just how my face looks, Dorian. I can’t change it.”

“Have you tried smiling? It would do wonders for that perpetual scowl you always seem to be wearing.”

“What is there to smile about?”

“My lovely presence, for one. My witticisms for a second. And if you must require a third, I daresay that the Inquisitor’s presence in Skyhold for the time being is a happy third!”

“Drink your wine, Dorian.”

“Gladly.”

* * * * *

It had been several days since Evelyn had left for the ball at Halamshiral. It seemed she had taken half of the Inquisition away with her. Dorian’s footsteps echoed more than usual through the Great Hall of the keep, his eyes taking note of each missed individual. Varric’s normal space by the hearth was empty, as was Vivienne’s balcony perch. No fire was warming the hearth of Josephine’s office, and Leliana’s rafters were strangely silent, her crows gone with her.

He paused on the steps that led down to the courtyard. What was he to do in their absence?

Truth be told, Evelyn had wanted to bring him along; he was, after all, quite skilled at politics, and he could be devastatingly charming when he wished. Not to mention he’d look wonderful in that dashing red uniform. But he’d not had the heart to go. He’d been lost in his thoughts too much the past week or so, giving several of his current problems a closer look. When he’d spoken with her last, he’d wanted the time to himself.

But he was done thinking now.

He was ready to act.

He purposefully strode down the steps and across the way to the Herald’s Rest. It too was devoid of its usual crowd, the benches only half full with patrons. Sera was cooped up in her room; that much he knew. She’d outright refused to go to the ball, and Evelyn hadn’t pressed the point. Cabot was there as well, sour as ever despite the more peaceful atmosphere.

And the Iron Bull was lounging on his bench, a tankard in one hand as he listened to Krem speak.

Dorian strode over to the two of them. Bull watched his movements, and Krem’s words trailed off as he noticed Dorian’s approach. “I’ll talk to you later, Chief,” he said quickly, moving back to his normal corner.

The mage sank down onto the stool in front of the Qunari, hands on his legs.

“Need something?” Bull asked, taking a swig of his ale.

“I’ve a question for you!” Dorian replied. Bull motioned for him to continue. “Back in Redcliffe, you told me to figure out what I want. Once I knew, you wanted me to come to you. But that’s not really fair, is it?”

Bull raised an eyebrow at him. “Keep talking,” he grunted.

Dorian clasped his hands together in front of him, affixing the Qunari with a curious stare. “What do _you_ want, Bull?”

“Not important,” the Qunari replied easily, shaking his head.

“I would very much disagree on that,” the mage said.

“This isn’t about me.”

“I don’t wish to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t wholeheartedly adore me,” Dorian explained. “My ego couldn’t take it, you see.”

“Then you’re declining?” Was that a hint of disappointment in the other’s voice? It was so difficult to tell, but Dorian thought it might be.

“Not at all,” he replied, sitting back.

Bull finished off his tankard, sitting up to place it on the floor. He kept his eye on Dorian the entire time. “What do you mean then, Dorian?” His voice was harder now, more pressing. Dorian had raised his suspicions. Good. For once, he’d gotten a handle on their conversation. For once, he was in control of how things went. And he liked that.

“You keep handing this decision off to me, as if I’m the only one who gets to make it,” the mage explained. “Rather silly, don’t you think? A relationship involves two people, not one person. That’s what I would like, by the way: a relationship. I think I’m willing to give it a go!” He sat up straight, fixing his rumpled robes.

“Even though I’m… ?”

“Even so,” Dorian confirmed. “Why not? You keep telling me how different you are from the other Qunari! Well, maybe you’re right! I have to test my hypothesis to prove or disprove the theory, yes?”

“I thought you were frightened of the commitment.”

“Oh, I’m bloody terrified,” he snorted.

“Then why change your mind?”

Dorian smiled faintly at the question. “If I let everything that terrified me get the best of me, I would be living in Tevinter, cursed, and married to a horrid woman who couldn’t stand me. I refused to live my life that way. So why should I let anything else frighten me away from happiness when it stares me in the eye?”

He pushed himself up then, dusting off his hands. He pointed a finger at Bull. “Think about what you want,” he said. “You know where to find me.”

He felt Bull’s eyes on his back as he left the tavern, making his return to the library. He felt rather good about that conversation. Bull had unnerved him during their early conversations and interactions, managing to control the tenor of their encounters entirely. And why? He was as much of a man as Bull!

He just had better taste. And he was far better looking.

Dorian plopped down into his armchair with a light sigh, picking up the book he’d been reading earlier and flipping around to find his previous spot. He wondered how long it would take Bull to come to a decision. Days? Weeks? He supposed he couldn’t complain if it did take a while. After all, he’d spent weeks now mulling over his thoughts.

These things were better if they weren’t rushed.

Still, he couldn’t help the nervous anticipation that thrummed in his veins.

What would Bull’s answer be? A wholehearted yes? A regretful no? Would this affect their somewhat tenuous working relationship?

He gave the book several attempts before he finally closed it and set it aside. As if he could read a book about Divine Galatea right now. It wasn’t even remotely interesting.

Really, who cared when the woman had taken a shit? The fact that that was actually in her biography was astounding.

And people called  _him_ uncivilized.

His thoughts kept spiraling back to Bull, wondering how things would go. He’d put the reins in the other’s hands, leaving it entirely up to the mercenary what to do. As much as it thrilled him, it also terrified him. And it also left him entirely incapable of doing something mundane.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and trying to will himself to be patient.

Bull needed time. He deserved time. He’d certainly given Dorian enough time to figure out what he wanted.

But oh, how he hated waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for bearing with me until this point! We're in the home stretch now!
> 
> Your support means the world to me :D


	18. The Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter too is a very soft NSFW :) With lots of cheeeeeeeese :)

“So, these books you write, Varric… who actually reads them?”

Varric looked over at Dorian speculatively. “Why, anyone with some taste and a lust for adventure,” he replied.

“That’s a lot of people?” Dorian asked. He cocked his head to the side. “Do the southern masses even know how to read?”

The dwarf sighed, shaking his head. “Such an elitist,” he muttered.

“Yes? I left my homeland, Varric. I didn’t up and turn _peasant_.”

“Because that would be just terrible,” he snorted, gathering his manuscript pages into a neat pile.

“The height of tragedy,” Dorian agreed.

“Didn’t you read my romance serial?” Varric asked, raising en eyebrow.

“I did, yes,” the mage confirmed. “Why?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong here, but doesn’t it look bad if you make fun of a book you actually, willingly read?”

Dorian huffed indignantly. “I assure you, I was only reading it so that I could tease Cassandra about it later!” he said, holding out a hand. “It wasn’t for my personal amusement!”

“You still read it,” Varric smirked.

“Is it based on a real person? Someone you knew from Kirkwall?”

The dwarf snorted. “If I told you the answer to that, Sparkler, I’d have to kill you.”

“So it is based on truth! Oh, do tell, Varric!” Dorian leaned forward intently, propping his chin on one of his hands.

“My lips are sealed!” Varric replied, holding up his hands.

“Where’s your sense of fun?”

“Fun requires my head to be attached to the rest of me.”

Dorian sighed heavily, but Varric stayed firm, continuing to write the letter he was working on. Dorian watched him for a few minutes, watching as the dwarf scrawled lines across a page faster than Dorian would have thought possible. Was it shorthand, perhaps, or some kind of glyphic cipher? Maybe it was the dwarven language. It certainly didn’t appear to be the Common Tongue.

“It’s impolite to read other people’s letters.”

The mage snorted. “That’s never stopped me before,” he admitted.

“So I’ve heard.” Varric looked up, shooting him a wry smirk. “So. On another note, would you care to explain why Tiny’s staring at us?”

Tiny? Who was Tiny? He looked around the tavern, trying to think of whom Varric could mean, when he settled on Bull, sitting on his bench and staring at them intently.

He snorted. Tiny indeed.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Dorian said innocently.

Varric chuckled, and the mage looked back at the dwarf questioningly. “No one ever said _that_ in _that_ tone of voice and meant nothing by it,” he replied.

“Rats, you’ve figured me out! You’re a tricky little dwarf, Varric, did you know that?”

The dwarf’s eyes flashed at him, and Dorian’s smirk deepened. “Cool it, Sparkler. And spill. What’s going on with you and Tiny? Don’t think I haven’t noticed the two of you. This-” He gestured vaguely in Bull’s direction, “-is hardly the first time I’ve caught one of you staring at the other.”

Dorian tiled his head to the side. “How did you put it earlier?” He paused, pretending to think. “Ah, yes! _My lips are sealed_.”

Varric snorted. “That phrase only works if you’ve any good at keeping secrets,” he replied. “Which we both know you aren’t.”

“Varric!” Dorian sat back, placing a hand on his chest dramatically. “I’m offended!”

The dwarf rolled his eyes. “I’m sure.”

“If you must know, I really don’t know why he’s staring at me,” Dorian said. And it was true, technically – there were a number of things that Bull could want with him, and he had no way of knowing which one it was. The mercenary was just sitting there, so there was no way of interpreting his body language, and he was too far away for his eye to be revealing.

He could want anything, really.

Bull stood up then and walked out of the tavern. He didn’t look over at Dorian or Varric once. That gave Dorian pause. Where was he going, and what was he doing? He almost never left the tavern.

“Lovers’ quarrel?”

Dorian looked back at Varric. “Lovers?” he repeated. “What in Thedas gave you the impression that the two of us are lovers?”

“Sparkler, I know I’m a bit lower to the ground than you, but I can still see,” the dwarf snorted. “I’ve seen enough illicit trysts and forbidden relationships to know one when it’s right in front of my face.”

Forbidden. That was what Bull had said to him earlier – that he saw Qunari as forbidden territory. And perhaps he did. But Bull had always been different, and now that he was Tal-Vashoth, he was entirely different. It wasn’t the same.

“Tell me, Varric, what do you see?”

Varric shot him a puzzled look, studying him for a moment before answering. When it did, he gave a surprisingly blunt answer. “Two idiots who really like each other,” he said. “Both of whom are afraid to move first, and both of whom are held back by silly societal beliefs that they don’t even believe in anymore.”

Well. That was rather accurate, wasn’t it?

“You’re too observant for you own good sometimes, Varric.” That earned him a wry chuckle.

“Don’t I know it, Sparkler.”

* * * * *

Evelyn laid down her pen with a sigh, pushing the report away from her irritably.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to ward off the headache she could already feel at the back of her mind. It was no use. She sighed, slumping back into her chair.

There were just too many things to do. Upon returning from Halamshiral – which had been an absolute fiasco, of course, because nothing could ever go right for the Inquisition – Leliana had immediately informed her that Corypheus had been spotted south in the Arbor Wilds. Her scouts were unsure of what he wanted, but their new advisor, Morrigan, had had the answer. A gift of sorts from the Empress, the mage had all sorts of arcane knowledge, and she’d pointed them to an ancient Elven temple located in the heart of the Wilds.

Which, of course, meant that they needed a way to get there.

And a way of stalling Corypheus while they made the preparations for the journey.

It was a nightmare. Evelyn had been signing forms and attending meetings almost non-stop since she’d returned from Orlais. Everyone needed something from her, some permission or authority that only she could give. She’d barely had time to eat and bathe, let alone sleep or visit with her friends.

Thank the Maker Cullen was also one of her advisors. At least she could see him in meetings.

There was a knock at the door then, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.

_Speaking of Cullen…_

She sat up a little straighter as Cullen walked into her chamber, a stack of reports in his hand. He smiled when he saw her, sending a burst of warmth through her body. “Hi,” she murmured.

“Hello,” he replied, walking over to her desk. He laid the papers down gently to one side; they were neatly bundled together with a string so that they wouldn’t get separated from each other. It was a very practical thing to do, and so very Cullen. The thought made the corners of her mouth twitch up in mirth.

“Is something funny?” he asked, noticing her amusement.

“It’s nothing,” she smiled, waving a hand. “What are these?”

“Troop assignments and battle plans for the journey south,” he replied easily. “I’ve divided up the soldiers as best as possible, trying to allow for maximum strength and minimum casualties. We’ll lose men, but I’d prefer it be as low a number as possible.”

“Of course,” she agreed.

“Much of our planning will have to wait until we get to the Arbor Wilds and can see for ourselves what Corypheus will have set up,” he continued. “I expect him to have brought as many Venatori cultists as he has remaining with him, as well as his dwindling supplies of Red Templars. It will likely be quite a fight to even get to the Temple, let alone inside it.”

“That would be too easy.”

He must have heard the fatigue in her voice, for he paused. “Long night?” he asked softly.

“Long _days_ ,” she corrected. “I feel like I haven’t had a moment to breathe since Halamshiral.”

He came to stand behind her then, strong hands falling on her shoulders. He slowly began working his fingers into the tense muscles of her shoulders, easing the kinks and knots. She groaned, leaning forward in the chair to give him better access. He chuckled. “I’ve found that we tend to carry the bulk of our work upon our backs,” he murmured. “Often quite literally.”

“That feels _amazing_ ,” she murmured, the moment too peaceful for her to say anything else. She felt herself slowly dozing off into a trance as his fingers danced their way across her shoulders and down her spine, only to return to the nape of her neck and begin their journey again. His touch was firm but gentle, and he immediately responded to the slightest indication that a particular press was too hard.

“It’s the least I can do,” he said.

She sighed happily as he continued his ministrations. When a stopped a few minutes later, she whined in protest, eyes flicking open to see why he’d ceased. He’d stepped forward, picking up a piece of paper that had been lying on her desk. She frowned; what was that? She didn’t recognize it as one of her reports, and it looked old, the edges frayed.

Her eyes widened in horror when she realized what it was.

_The list!_

Her hand shot out to grab it, but Cullen’s martial reflexes were too quick. He stepped back immediately, and she fell forward, hitting the floor with an embarrassing squeak.

“Are you alright?” he asked quickly, reaching down to help her up.

She pushed his hand away, scrambling to her feet. “I’m fine!” she insisted. She reached for the paper again, only to have him take another step backwards, infuriatingly keeping the list out of her reach. “Give that back!” she snapped.

“What is it?” Cullen asked, eyes flicking to the page.

“Nothing!”

“It looks like a list… of people?”

She made a final lunge for the page, but Cullen was ready for her this time. He easily sidestepped her. Defeated, she turned away from him; she couldn’t watch as he began to comprehend what he was reading. She stood with her back to him, waiting for the inevitable moment of anger when he confronted her.

What she hadn’t expected was laughter.

“Is this it, then?” he asked. “Your list of potential male companions?”

She whirled around, biting her lower lip. To her immense surprise, Cullen was smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth. She paused; what was going on here? He should have been angry, or felt betrayed. He should have assumed that she was using him. Why, he was acting as if he already knew about-

It hit her like a ton of bricks.

Dorian.

She scowled.

_That son of a bitch!_

“He told you, didn’t he,” she said pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He may have mentioned something to that effect,” Cullen replied.

She couldn’t believe it. This was supposed to be a private thing between the two of them! Who else had Dorian told? Varric? Sera? Krem? She huffed in irritation, fighting the urge to stamp her foot into the ground. She should have known the blighted mage would blab!

Evelyn looked back at Cullen, who was watching her little tantrum with amusement. “Are you mad at me?” she asked quietly.

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Should I be?” he asked.

“I… I would’ve thought you’d be angry,” she admitted.

“I was surprised when Dorian told me, yes,” he replied. “But… I wasn’t angry. He explained the situation – how you had given me up after he embarrassed you in front of me.” He snorted then. “Though I must say, Dorian never had much of a chance.”

“But doesn’t this seem like…” she trailed off, unsure of how to phrase her feelings. And besides, why was she arguing the point? If he was alright with the situation… but no, that wouldn’t be fair. She needed to understand what he thought.

“Like what?” he asked. “Betrayal? As if you’re toying with my feelings?” She nodded hesitantly. “Are you?”

“Of course not!” she said quickly, taking a step closer to him. “Cullen, I l-” She clamped her mouth shut, eyes widening at the thought of the words she’d almost let slip out.

Cullen’s eyes flashed, and he reached out to grab her hand. She tried to step back, but his grip was too strong; he pulled her closer to him, staring down at her intently. She peeked up at him through her lashes, and was surprised at how soft his eyes were. “Say it,” he said softly.

She swallowed, trying to ease the nervous lump in her throat. “Cullen.” Her voice sounded thick to her ears. “I… I think I… I think I love you.”

Hot lips surged down against hers then, and his hand tangled in her hair as he pulled her close. Bewildered, she kissed him back eagerly, easing her lips over his. His breastplate was hard against her chest, and their embrace was almost bruising. But it didn’t matter in the moment. All that mattered was that she’d confessed her feelings, and he hadn’t rejected them.

She’d kept them to herself, not wanting to bother Dorian when he was so obviously conflicted with his own problems. She hadn’t wanted to add to his load, hadn’t wanted to rub it in his face that her relationship was going perfectly. She hadn’t wanted to make him resent her.

But she’d known it for weeks – she’d known that she was falling for the man in front of her. She knew it when her heart surged in her breast whenever she saw him, and she knew it when they began spending long evenings together just talking about their lives. She had known then that it was real, and that it was strong, and that she hoped it never ended.

Cullen pulled away then, just far enough that he could look down at her. “Say it again,” he breathed, hands cupping her face.

“I love you,” she murmured.

He kissed her again, and it was hard for her to breathe. She clung to him for support as he worshipped her mouth with his. He’d never kissed her like this before – slow and tender, yet terribly passionate. She was trembling in his grasp as he backed them up to the desk. She jerked away as a bottle of ink crashed to the floor, shattering.

Cullen pulled back, staring down at the ink seeping onto the carpet guiltily. He looked back at her, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I’ve ruined your carpet,” he admitted.

Evelyn snorted, and leaned back to push everything else on the desk to the floor; papers flew everywhere, pens went flying, and a vase of flowers sent petals tumbling through the air. Cullen raised an eyebrow at her actions, but she merely pushed herself onto the desk and began crawling backwards, beckoning him forward. “I have hundreds of carpets,” she said.

He smiled as he leaned over her, gently caressing her face. “We’ll call it a casualty of war,” he smirked.

He made love to her long and slow, treating her body with the utmost reverence. She felt like a goddess, her name falling from his lips like a mantra as he pleasured her. Every touch was a caress, his hands burning across her skin like wildfire. He didn’t stop until she was utterly spent, delirious in the afterglow.

Cullen picked her up and tucked her into the bed before crawling in after her, curling her body around hers. She hummed in contentment, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth.

“I love you too,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”

Her heart swelled at finally hearing the words, and she rolled into him. “I had hoped so,” she said quietly. “But it’s good to hear, just the same.”

His arms tightened around her, and they laid there in blissful silence as their heated bodies cooled. She was grateful for Cullen’s warmth then, forestalling the cool night air as it did.

“So… ”

“Yes?” she prompted.

“Frederic of Serault? Really?”

She groaned, tapping her forehead against his chest. She felt the chuckle that reverberated through his body. “You’ve never going to let me hear the end of that, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

* * * * *

The Arbor Wilds.

Even the name sounded uninviting. Say, why couldn’t they ever go somewhere civilized? Dorian snorted as he let himself into his chamber. He supposed it would be too much to ask for them to visit a real city like Antiva, or Qarinus. No, instead they were traipsing south to the end of the world, perhaps quite literally. 

What was he even supposed to bring with him? He didn’t know what the terrain was like in the Wilds, but he hoped it was better than the marshes in southern Ferelden. He was _still_ wringing dank swamp water out of his robes!

Dorian froze when he noticed that he wasn’t alone in his room.

The Iron Bull was sitting on a chair near his bed. It looked as if he were waiting for Dorian.

The mage blinked. “Why, hello there,” he said blankly. He frowned. “How did you get in? I thought I locked the door.”

“You did,” Bull confirmed. “I unlocked it.”

Dorian snorted. “Clearly,” he muttered. He removed his boots, setting them neatly by the door, and laid his staff in the corner. “Well then, what are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you.” He said it as if that were the simplest thing in the world to understand.

The mage sighed. “And you couldn’t have spoken to me in the tavern earlier?” he demanded. “Or yesterday afternoon, when I sitting in the courtyard for all to see?”

“I wanted to speak with you in private,” Bull clarified.

“Alright,” Dorian allowed, straightening. He moved to stand in front of the mercenary, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”

“I thought about what you said the other day.”

“… I’m listening _intently_.”

“I… don’t know how this works.” Bull stood then, and it was Dorian’s turn to look up.

“How what works?” he asked.

“Relationships,” the other replied. “Never been in one. It’s not how the Qun works. But…” he trailed off, thinking hard. Dorian waited for him to continue, getting nervous despite himself. “The Qun doesn’t really exist here, does it?”

“So, what are you saying?” Dorian asked, forcing himself not to get too excited. He couldn’t be sure. There was no way of knowing until Bull clarified what he meant, but it sounded like…

It sounded like he was accepting Dorian’s terms.

“You’re a good guy, Dorian,” Bull said. “I respect you.” He snorted. “Other than Krem, never thought I’d say that ‘bout a ‘Vint.”

“Believe me, the feeling is highly mutual.”

“Point is… okay.”

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “Okay?” he repeated. “What in Thedas does that mean?”

“I’m in.”

“In?”

“You gonna say anything original here?”

Dorian huffed, popping a hip out to the side as he shot the other an exasperated look. “You’re not making much sense here,” he said. “Care to elaborate for me?”

“You,” Bull said, stepping closer. “Me. Together.” He reached forward and tilted up the other’s chin so that Dorian was staring straight up at him.

“No one else?” Dorian asked quickly.

“No one else,” Bull agreed.

“And you want this?” He had to know. He had to know Bull wasn’t just doing this for his sake. “You’re doing this because you want it?”

“Dorian-”

He caught the aggravated note in Bull’s voice, but he was insistent. “It’s a completely relevant question!”

Bull swiftly leaned down and kissed him in response. One of his massive hands came up to the side of Dorian’s neck, leaning his head back so that he could deepen the kiss.

This was different from the other times Bull had kissed him. Before, it had been hard and passionate, full of lust and heat. Those qualities were still there, but the urgency was gone, replaced by a quiet curiosity.

And then Bull was pulling back, his eye warm as he looked at Dorian.

“Yes,” he said quietly, letting his hand drift down the mage’s body to rest on his side. The touch was gentle, belying Bull’s sheer physical power, and it made Dorian shiver involuntarily.

“I want this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> There's just one more chapter after this, as well as an epilogue I'm planning. Thank you all so much for your kind words and comments throughout this! You guys are awesome sauce.


	19. The Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult for me. I really wanted to get it right, and tie up everything appropriately. Endings are always hard, I think. So hopefully I got this right! :)

Someone had once told him that having sex was different from making love.

Dorian hadn’t quite believed them. How did a label change something? It was still essentially the same thing, with the same sensations and the same mechanics. Calling it something else didn’t change it from what it was – a simple act of carnal pleasure.

But that had been before. Now, lying next to Bull on his narrow bed, panting and sweaty, he wasn’t so sure. He looked over to the Qunari, watching his breathing slow.

“I wouldn’t have thought it possible,” he murmured, flicking a stray lock of hair out of his face.

Bull peeked down at him. “What was that?”

“It’s just… so unlikely,” Dorian continued. “You… me… together like this.”

The Qunari snorted. “Stranger things have happened,” he scoffed.

“That is true,” the mage said thoughtfully. “I did see Vivienne patting Cole on the head the other day.”

“… like a cat?”

“Precisely so!” He paused, and then looked up at Bull. “You were right about one thing though.”

“Just one?” Bull raised an eyebrow.

“We are good together.”

“Finally figured that out, huh?” Bull asked, moving his hands behind his head. 

“You have my father to thank for that, you know.”

The mercenary turned to his side, giving Dorian his full attention. “What do you mean?”

The mage shrugged. “Meeting up with him just made me think,” he replied. “… I’ve wasted so many years and so many opportunities. My father hated each and every one of my suitors, and he sabotaged those friendships before they had the change to become relationships. But when I left the estate… I think I began to subconsciously do the same thing. I held people at arm’s length, never letting them get close enough to hurt me. I… I suppose I was afraid that they would hurt me as my father’s disapproval hurt me.

“But that’s not helping anyone, is it?” He shook his head. “I refuse to vie for the approval of a man who can’t accept such a basic part of me. I realized that when he came to visit me. Did I tell you he apologized to me?”

“You mentioned it.”

“I forgave him… but I cannot forget what he tried to do to me,” Dorian said. “I cannot change. And my father _will_ not change.” He sighed, rolling onto his back. “We are, I believe, at an impasse. However…” He paused again, wetting lips that had gone dry. “… that’s no reason to continue to deny myself happiness. As I told you the other day.”

Bull looked down at him curiously, an inscrutable expression on his face. The mage waited, expectant, wondering what his response would be. He felt his stomach flutter nervously as the silence stretched on.

“I don’t know much about relationships,” Bull said finally. “I told you that.” He reached out and put a finger under Dorian’s chin, lifting his face. “But you’re a good man, Dorian. And you deserve better than your idiot father.”

Dorian smiled. “Getting all soft on me, are you, Bull?”

The Qunari snorted, chucking the mage’s chin gently. “Don’t count on it,” he warned.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.” He shifted on the sheets a little, pulling Dorian closer to him. “This is how this works – I’m here for you. Anything you need, I’ll get it for you. Anything you want me to do, I’ll do it.” Dorian didn’t miss the suggestion in the other’s voice. “If it ever gets to be too much, you just say ‘Katoh’, and I’ll stop. That simple.”

Dorian eyed him suggestively. “And what if I don’t want you to stop?” he asked.

Bull grinned at him and reached down to pat Dorian’s head. “That’s my ‘Vint.”

Dorian scowled up at him. “I see what you did there,” he snapped. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“Want me to fix it?” the Qunari asked. He rolled over, pinning Dorian beneath him. “I think I can do that.” He surveyed Dorian with a look that set the mage’s blood boiling. “Your endurance is higher than I expected. Normally once is enough for humans.”

“I am a man of many talents,” Dorian preened. He slipped a hand beneath the sheets, grabbing Bull’s half-hard cock with deft fingers. He stroked the other’s length a few times, enjoying the view as Bull’s eye darkened with desire.

“You'll have to convince me.”

Dorian lifted an eyebrow. “Care to bet on it?” he asked. He released Bull’s cock to take the Qunari’s balls into his hand, rolling them between his fingers. He smirked as the mercenary’s veins bulged with the effort of remaining still and silent.

“What do I get if I win?”

“Me.”

“And if I lose?”

“Me.”

Bull snorted, thrusting his hips forward into Dorian’s palm. “Sounds like my kind of bet,” he murmured.

Dorian grinned, leaning forward to kiss him. “I thought you might like it.”

* * * * *

Cullen awoke early the next morning, long before the sun was peeking over the tips of the mountains. He blinked a few times at the dimness, working the sleep from his eyes. Evelyn shifted against him at his side, curling deeper into the blankets. He smiled gently at her, moving carefully out of the bed so as to avoid waking her.

He softly padded over to where his clothing was strewn across the floor. The contents of Evelyn’s desk were still decorating the carpet, reports everywhere. He snorted lightly at the memory of her knocking everything to the floor. She’d not cared one bit that she’d likely ruined half the pages that had been sitting on her desk. She’d only had eyes for him.

 _I… I think I love you_. His heart swelled as he recalled her words. It had only been a few months since they had started getting to know each other, and a scant year since the Inquisition’s formation. And yet already, he couldn’t fathom life without her. When all of this was over… he swallowed, forcing away the dark thoughts that came to his mind unbidden.

This would end. They would be successful. Evelyn would destroy Corypheus and his power and close the rifts to the Fade. They would survive. And then…

He chuckled. _Don’t get ahead of yourself, Rutherford_ , he chastised himself.

Cullen bent over then, trying to gather the fallen papers as best as he could. He stacked them on the desk, trying to put them back in some semblance of order, before he righted the flower vase. The lilies were, unfortunately, crushed, and most were missing a petal or two. There was no saving them.

He walked over to the fire, intent on throwing them on the embers, when he noticed one remained intact. He studied it for a moment. How in Thedas had it survived the fall when all of the others looked like an ogre had stomped on them? It didn’t seem right to destroy it when it alone had escaped unscathed.

He walked over to Evelyn then and laid the flower on her nightstand. Perhaps she could make some use of it. She rolled over in her sleep, murmuring softly as she hugged one of the pillows to her body. He smiled, reaching out to brush her dark hair behind her ear. Though she didn’t wake, she instinctively curved into his touch, and his fingertips lingered against her skin.

He sighed, pulling back and moving to put on his armor. He hated to leave her like this. He would happily have stayed in bed with her all morning, content just to hold her. But he had work to do. They were moving on the Arbor Wilds soon, and the army’s survival largely depended on how he prepared them for the fight. No, he really couldn’t stay.

Still…

Cullen moved swiftly then, pressing a kiss to Evelyn’s temple. She didn’t wake, thankfully, and he pulled away, forcing himself to leave before he convinced himself that he didn’t have to.

Soon. This would all be over soon, and then they would have all the time in the world. Corypheus would be dead, the Inquisition’s purpose would be served, and Evelyn would be out of immediate danger.

Soon.

* * * * *

“… you gave the Iron Bull an _ultimatum?”_

“Ultimatum is a harsh word,” he disagreed, frowning. “It’s so… ultimate.”

She snorted. “Call it whatever you want,” she replied. She shook her head then, both immensely impressed at Dorian’s balls and a little worried for his mental clarity. “You still went up to him and basically told him it was your way or the Imperial Highway.”

“These things require the right sort of handling,” Dorian explained. “With some situations, you must be careful and considerate. Take yourself, for instance! I subtly pushed you in the direction of the Cullen and now you’re disgustingly happy! Bull requires… a more firm grip.”

“I bet he does,” Evelyn smirked.

“You are twelve,” he snapped.

“So you gave him this ultimatum and then he just, what, agreed?”

“Well, it took him several days to come to a decision,” he replied, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. “But yes, I do believe that was the general sense of things.”

She smiled at her friend. “I’m happy for you,” she said. “Truthfully, I am.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied.

The smile he sent her in return was glorious. She hadn’t seen Dorian look that happy in a long time; in fact, she wasn’t sure she’d _ever_ seen the mage look so content. The circumstances of their first meeting hadn’t exactly been pleasant, and things had only worsened from there. But his face was so open, so genuine… she’d never have thought that it would be the Iron Bull who would have had this effect on him.

“I’m happy for me too,” he continued. He tipped his head to her. “My naughty bits and I are quite satisfied.”

She had to snort at that. It was quite ironic, wasn’t it? A few months ago, they’d both decided that their sex lives needed some spice. Neither of them had harbored any illusions about forming a bond with anyone. It was to be strictly physical, the sole goal the satisfaction of their libidos. And yet…

They’d both ended up in relationships.

“Well, that was the point of this entire exercise,” Evelyn reminded him. "Our va-"

“I think we got rather more than we dared to hope for, wouldn’t you say?” Dorian quickly interrupted him. 

Evelyn smirked, but she let it go. “I’m not complaining.”

“Me neither, my dear. Me neither.”

“…so you finally got to ride the bull, huh?”

“I take that back. My previous estimates were egregiously high. You’re _four_.”

"Prepare yourself, Dorian. I devised an arsenal of witty jokes for this."

"... Maker preserve me."

* * * * *

“Ready?”

Evelyn nodded, holding the sheet of paper out to Dorian. She’d finally managed to convince Cullen to give it back to her, though not without a fair amount of… persuasion.

The mage took the sheet from her, peering over it. He smiled. “You really have the worst luck, my dear,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me,” she muttered darkly. She waved a hand at the list. “Well! Don’t just stand there making fun of me! Get on with it!”

He chuckled. “Patience is a virtue, my dear,” he said.

“Not one I possess.”

Dorian snapped his fingers, and a flame burst into being above his palm. He held the paper up to the fire until it caught flame.

Evelyn watched as the paper curled and blackened, and then fell to the floor as a pile of ashes. It was symbolic, in a way; her honest attempts to find a partner had all gone up in flames, either due to sexual preference or vows of chastity. As much as she hated to admit it, Dorian was right – her luck was downright abysmal.

But then again... maybe not. She snuck a look over at Cullen, talking with Bull over tankards of ale. She smiled at the intent expression on his face; she would never tire of looking at him. 

“Enjoying the view?”

She turned back to Dorian, not hiding the smile on her face. “Aren’t you?” she shot back.

“Oh, quite.” The mage whipped out a similar sheet of paper and renewed the flames in his hand. He stared at it for a moment before bringing it to the fire; it disintegrated with a puff of smoke, joining the ashes of Evelyn’s list on the floor. He let the flames flicker out and dusted off his hands. “I must say, I feel rather sentimental about all of this.”

She snorted. “Well, I’m glad one of us has good memories of those infernal lists.”

“You say that, but I believe you owe me thanks,” he replied.

“How do you figure?”

He shot her an offended look. “You got Cullen,” he said. “As I seem to recall, we both wanted him. _You_ got him.” He stood up a little straighter. “My doing, of course.”

“Are you complaining about sharing a bed with Bull?” she asked innocently, taking a step towards the table where their lovers were talking. “Because I can go and mention that to him.”

Dorian grabbed her arm quickly. “Better not,” he advised. “Bull’s have a tendency to rampage when they don’t get what they want.”

She snorted at that, but let Dorian draw her away to the bar anyways. He called to Cabot and ordered them a bottle of wine and two glasses. “I believe a toast is in order,” he said.

“A toast?” she repeated.

“To our success!” Dorian pushed a glass into her hands and uncorked the bottle, pouring her a glass. “It’s not everyday that you fall in love, now is it?”

“I should hope not.”

He sighed. “Evelyn,” he said warningly.

“Alright, alright!” She held up her glass, the ruby liquid swirling around. “To our success in finding love.”

“Here, here!”

* * * * *

“You are getting all of this down, aren’t you?”

Varric snorted, shooting a half-offended look over his shoulder at Cassandra. “Like I’d miss this,” he snapped. He returned his attention to the page in front of him, writing furiously to make sure that he got as much information recorded as possible. He’d gotten away with heartily embellishing _Swords & Shields_ – namely because the heroine lived far, far away from here and had an official job. She couldn't exactly chase him down. 

He wasn’t sure he could do that when he wrote the story of the Inquisitor. If she didn’t track him down and skin him alive, Curly surely would.

The Seeker sighed above him. “It’s so romantic.”

“Keep it in your pants, Cassandra.”

She made a disgusted noise and cuffed him on the back of the head. “Be quiet, Varric,” she snapped. “I am merely happy for them. The both of them. They deserve happiness, and I am glad they have found it.”

“Doesn’t everyone deserve happiness?”

“Maybe,” she allowed. She sighed then, and her next words were so quiet Varric almost didn’t catch them. “But that does not mean everyone gets it.”

He put his pen down, turning to look up at the Seeker. “So you aren’t even going to try?” he asked.

“I… did not say that,” she said, shifting around on her feet. She shot him a dark look. “But I have no suitors. It would be a waste of time that would be better spent serving the Inquisition.”

“Well, how hard have you looked?”

“What?”

He shrugged. “Call me crazy, but I don’t think you’ve tried very hard to find a lover,” he replied. She scowled at him, and opened her mouth to speak, but Varric cut her off. “Hey, now, let me finish!” Cassandra shut her mouth, crossing her arms over her breasts expectantly. “You’re very committed to the Inquisition, and you spend most of your time working to restore peace to the world. It’s a grand ideal! It’s not a bad thing that you aren’t looking for love.”

“So you criticize me with one breath and compliment me the next,” she snorted.

He sighed and shook his head. “I just meant that… shit. I don’t know.” He could feel Cassandra’s disapproval from where he sat, and for whatever reason, he felt compelled to assuage it. “Sometimes these things just happen. They fall into place. Maybe that’ll happen for you.”

To his surprise, she was silent for a moment, considering his words. “You think?”

“Sure!” he replied.

“But… who would want me?” she asked, her voice surprisingly timid. “I… am not unaware of what people think of me.”

“Hey, now, don’t sell yourself short,” Varric said. “Sometimes it’s the person you least expect. Sometimes they’re right in front of you!”

He froze, realizing what his words were intimating. Cassandra seemed to have realized it as well, but to her credit, she didn’t spit out an acerbic retort. She… was she blushing?

That was weird.

Varric didn’t like weird. He turned back around quickly, picking up his pen again to resume writing. Cassandra was silent for a moment. “Make sure you get everything right,” she said finally, walking around the table to stare down at Varric’s writing. “Don’t sully their words with your… exaggerations.”

He snorted. “I’m flattered you think I’m that creative, but I couldn’t make that shit up,” he replied, nodding over to the two couples across the room. And he couldn’t – it was entirely too unlikely. A Tevinter mage and a Qunari mercenary? A jaded ex-Templar and an excommunicated noble from Ostwick?

The first rule of making shit up was that it had to be believable. And those four violated every tenet of that rule.

“Fine.” She took a few steps away from him, and he paused, looking up. She halted then, and he frowned. Had she forgotten something? She turned back to look at him, a guarded look on her face. “Varric.”

“Yes?”

“Would you like a drink?”

A smile slowly broke across his face. “Sure. I’d like that.” The surprising part should have been that Cassandra had offered to buy him a drink. Or even that he’d found him himself accepting the offer. But both of those things happened, and then Cassandra had come over and sat with him and they actually had a civil conversation. And none of it surprised Varric.

No.

What surprised him was that he enjoyed it. What surprised him even more was that he found himself a little sad when she had to leave an hour later. 

_Well, shit._

Fucking Cassandra.

He really _couldn’t_ make this shit up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading!
> 
> This is the end of the story proper! I'll have a short epilogue written shortly and post it :) That will take place several months later, after the end of the Inquisition events. But this is effectively the end of the road :) Again, thank you guys so much for reading, commenting, and liking my story! You guys are the best! :)


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW :)

**Epilogue**

**Four months after the events of Inquisition**

* * * * *

“Hey Dorian!”

Dorian looked up. The Iron Bull was striding confidently across the courtyard, still dirty from the road. The mage shook his head affectionately; there was blood all over the mercenary’s armor, and he likely stunk to high heaven. He’d probably jumped off his titan of a horse and come straight to see Dorian. It flattered the mage, it really did. Though sometimes he wished Bull would bathe first. Or at least scrape the grime off his skin.

He stood up as Bull approached, setting pen and paper aside. He was immediately swept up into a bone-crushing hug, the breath driven from his lungs. He swatted the other on the back, trying to get him to set him back down. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the gesture, but he liked his lungs inside his body. And intact.

Bull dropped him and kissed him in swift progression, leaving Dorian not a little dazed. “Managed to get back early,” Bull said happily, resting his hands on Dorian’s biceps. “Boss got tired of the Freemens’ crap, so we got to go in and smash things up!”

“How delightful,” the mage replied flatly.

“You should’ve been there! It was magnificent!” Bull sighed happily. “There were these pathetic little battlements they’d set up to try and stop us. Hah! It’ll take more than those fucking twigs to stop the Iron Bull!”

“Is that what all this blood is from?” Dorian asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “The blood of the Freemen?”

Bull looked down at his armor and blinked, as if he were surprised to notice the blood staining the metal. “What, this?” he asked. “Nah.” His eye twinkled wickedly as he returned his gaze to Dorian. “I haven’t even mentioned the best part! We got to fight a dragon!”

“… a dragon.”

“It was so fucking amazing! Atashi!”

“What was that?”

“Qunlat for dragons,” Bull said quickly. “‘The glorious ones’.”

“That’s a rather lofty name for a creature everyone from Nevarra to Ferelden has deemed dangerous to the general public,” Dorian replied.

“But they are glorious,” Bull insisted. “Teeth and all! Have you ever seen such raw, destructive power in one being?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Corypheus was rather unpleasant to deal with.”

“You’re crushing my mood here, Dorian.”

“And I’m very sorry about that,” the mage said. “Forgive me that I don’t particularly relish the idea of my lover fighting blighted _dragons_.” He eyed Bull speculatively, as if he could detect any injury beneath the heavy metal and dried blood. “Are you alright?”

“Never better!” Bull crowed.

“Well.” Dorian nodded. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Bull’s eye softened. “Me too,” he replied. His face lit up then, and he reached for his pocket. “I have something for you.” He pulled out his hand and reached for Dorian’s, pressing something into his palm.

Dorian looked down, turning his hand over. It was a necklace, half of a dragon tooth hanging like a pendant from the leather cord.

“Qunari don’t normally have sex with those they love,” Bull explained. “But there is a ritual we have to show deep commitment to one another. A dragon’s tooth, broken in half, one part worn by each person.” He reached under his armor to pull out a necklace similar to the one in Dorian’s hand. “Then, no matter how far apart life takes them, they’re always together.”

Dorian found that he couldn’t speak. There was a lump in his throat preventing him from saying anything, and he had to clear his throat several times before he was capable of a response. “Bull,” he finally choked out, hating how weak his voice sounded.

“I’m serious about this, Dorian.” The mage looked up. “About us. I just want you to know that I’m in. I am _all_ in. Where you go, I go.” He paused, studying Dorian’s face for a moment. “I hope you feel the same.”

“You hope-” Dorian broke off with an exasperated sigh. “Of course I feel the same, you great lummox!” He smacked Bull on the arm, though there was no bite to it.

Bull beamed, leaning down to kiss him again. “Good,” he murmured, pulling back. “I had to ask, though, kadan. To make sure.”

Dorian quirked an eyebrow at the unfamiliar term. Perhaps it would be a good investment to learn some basic Qunlat. “Kadan?” he repeated.

“Another Qunlat term.”

“What does it mean?” Dorian asked.

“My heart.”

Dorian stopped listening as Bull went into the specifics of the term and how it was used. He really didn’t care what the Qunari meant by the word; all he cared was that Bull had used it in reference to _him_ , and that he meant it with all of his heart.

“Shut up,” he said suddenly.

Bull paused, surprised. “Hmmm?”

“Shut up,” Dorian said, more firmly this time. He reached out and grabbed Bull by the neck, bringing their heads together.

“Just kiss me, you fool.”

* * * * *

Evelyn emerged from the water with a shuddering gasp. The bath was cool against her skin, but it felt utterly delightful in this unseasonable heat. She grabbed for a sponge to begin sluicing the dirt from her body. It had been several long weeks in the Graves, and she was quite ready to smell like a person again.

She heard the door to the small chamber open, and she looked up, smiling when her eyes alighted on Cullen. “Hello,” she called, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn patch of dirt on her arm.

“You didn’t come and find me,” he said, tone only slightly accusatory.

She snorted. “Forgive me if I didn’t want to subject you to the stink,” she teased.

She wasn’t surprised when he began removing his armor, followed by his clothing. He joined her in the pool moments later, inhaling sharply at how cool the water was. “Maker’s breath!” he cursed. He peered at her speculatively. “Why the cold water?”

“You can put one of the runes in, if you wish,” Evelyn replied, nodding towards a special basket that housed the fire runes Dagna had created for warming bathwater. "My armor was hot." Cullen nodded before he grabbed one and activated it, letting it fall into the water as soon as the symbol glowed red.

"How were the Graves?"

"Green," she replied blithely. "Humid." 

"Were you safe?" he asked suddenly, voice more serious. 

She smiled, knowing the reason for his concern. "As safe as was possible," she admitted. 

He sighed. "Evelyn-"

"Don't worry. I left the dragon fighting to Bull."

"Dragon fighting?! You fought a dragon?!"

" _Bull_  fought a dragon," she clarified. "And Sera. And Cole. And Blackwall. I hid behind a tree. It was all I was allowed to do."

"Good."

She hated the satisfaction in his voice, much as she knew he was right. She had to be careful. Now more than ever. "I'm not made of glass," she muttered sullenly, crossing her arms over her breasts. 

He smiled. "I never suggested otherwise." She sighed, unable to stay mad in the face of the unadulterated joy on his face. 

She slipped under the water then, rewetting her hair. She hadn’t been down for more than a few seconds when strong hands pulled her up. Warm lips met hers in a soft kiss, and she curved into Cullen. His hands drifted lazily up her sides until they cupped her face ever so gently, his fingers tangling in her dark, wet hair.

He pulled back just enough to speak. “I don't believe I've properly welcomed you back,” he murmured.

“It is good to be back,” she admitted, leaning back in for another kiss. "It has its... perks." She felt Cullen smile against her as she eased her lips over his. She brought her tongue out to trace the shape of his lips, and his mouth parted invitingly. Oh, how she had missed this. These lips, this skin, this man.

Cullen’s hands slipped down to her body, caressing the curves and angles of her body. His roaming fingers dipped in her collarbones, circled her nipples, and traced the delicate swell of her stomach. His touches were feather light, making her squirm in delight as the heat pooled between her thighs.

She pulled his lower lip between her teeth, and he groaned, hands momentarily tightening on her waist. “Evelyn,” he murmured, withdrawing from her lips before moving forward to press kisses against her neck. She leaned her neck to the side, her wet hair heavy on her head, relishing the attention.

His hands continued their gentle movements along her flesh. She moaned when his fingers drifted beneath the water, gently brushing against her sex. She pressed her hips forward into his hand, and he stroked her obediently.

She opened her eyes to find Cullen watching her, his gaze soft and desirous. “I missed you,” he said.

She reached out and grasped his cock then, mimicking the motions of his hand on her sex. He groaned, eyes sliding shut for the briefest of moments. “I missed you too,” she replied, hand moving up to circle the tip of his length.

He leaned forward and captured her lips again; the kiss was hungrier this time, more urgent. She returned the ardor, shuddering against him every time his fingers found her clitoris. Her thighs were trembling with the force of her need now.

Cullen sensed this, and he gently pushed her away before turning her around. She pushed back against him, leaning forward. He bent down a bit and slipped his cock between her legs, rubbing against her a few times before pushing inside her slowly. She groaned at the sensation, the fullness after so long without him. He stilled a moment, letting her adjust, before he softly rocked his hips against her.

She reached her arms up to grab the back of his head, threading her fingers through his damp curls. He pressed his face forward so that their cheeks were touching, and she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. His hands drifted up to palm her breasts as they bounced with the force of his thrusts.

He moved tortuously slowly within her, the fire in her core building and building. Her nails dug into Cullen’s scalp, and he groaned in response, finally snapping his hips forward a little harder.

“More,” she breathed.

Cullen chuckled at her earnest request before snapping his hips forward much harder than before. The sound drawn from Evelyn’s lips was guttural, and she clutched him fiercely.

She cried out when the tip of his cock brushed against the most sensitive part of her core, her hands slipping from his head. She leaned forward, grasping at the edge of the pool as her lover began to fuck her in earnest. His hands moved down to grab at her hips, fingers digging into her skin.

It wasn’t long until she felt her core clench with the force of an orgasm, and she shuddered, hands slipping on the wet floor tiles. Cullen soon followed, staggering forward as his own climax hit him.

They stayed in that position for several long moments, letting their heated bodies cool. Finally, Cullen stood, turning Evelyn around as he moved. He was smiling at her, his eyes warm and loving.

“Now that’s a proper welcome,” she murmured, winking at him.

He chuckled again. His eyes moved then, from her eyes to her stomach. He kept his gaze there, studying the soft curve of her belly. He moved a hand down, placing it gently upon her stomach. “I still can’t believe it,” he murmured. His tone was reverent.

“Believe it,” she replied. “It’s happening.”

It had been an accident, a surprise a mere three months after Corypheus had been defeated. She’d been unsure of what to do at first – there was so much still to do, so much work to be done even in the face of their victory. And Cullen was still fighting with lyrium withdrawal.

But he’d been overjoyed at the news that she was with child. He told her that he’d always wanted a family. She’d been immediately relieved, though the prospect of having a baby still scared her. Cullen had been quick to assure her that she would be a wonderful mother, but she wasn’t so sure. She had certainly never considered herself maternal.

“I know that look,” he murmured, moving his hand from her stomach to her face. She looked up at him. “Stop worrying.”

“Easy for you to say,” she retorted.

“You will be perfect,” he said, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “You have taken down Tevinter cultists, Red Templars, and all sorts of demons from the Fade. You’ve made alliances with Orlais, Ferelden, and Nevarra. And you destroyed Corypheus and saved the world.” He shook his head affectionately. “How could you not succeed at being a mother?”

“Easily,” she snorted.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Perhaps.” She poked him in the shoulder. “I still blame you.”

He laughed at her. “I think I can live with that,” he said.

“Good.” She turned then, grabbing the soap from the basket of bathing supplies. She offered it to Cullen and raised an eyebrow. “Care to help your poor, pregnant betrothed wash her hair?”

He took the soap and twirled her around so her back was facing him.

“Gladly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for a happy ending. It's a good thing I'm finishing this before Trespasser is released. At the moment, this is still pretty canon :) 
> 
> Thanks again for reading this story. It's been fun, and reading your guys' comments has meant the world to me. Much love to all of you! :D I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story as a whole! :) 
> 
> I have a short little something planned involving these characters coming soon focusing more on developing a Cassandra/Varric relationship, as per requests :) If you'd like to read it, keep on the lookout!
> 
> Also, I literally JUST got a tumblr. Feel free to follow me or talk to me over there! 
> 
> http://mahbecks.tumblr.com


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